


Ephemeral

by witchofhearts



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: 66th Hunger Games, Ellis is 2 bisexual 4 u, F/F, F/M, Lots of OCs - Freeform, M/M, also it depicts the start of the rebellion, devons the best character, just some romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-28
Updated: 2016-12-28
Packaged: 2018-07-18 19:12:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 25,675
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7326901
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/witchofhearts/pseuds/witchofhearts
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"I can't fight. I can't swing a sword, or shoot a gun, or fire a bow, or outwit someone else. The only thing I can do is hope. And I know that hoping won't help me survive, but maybe I don't want to anymore. Maybe I just want to make do with the time I have left. Be that with you, or without you. Don't take that away from me." - Ellis Dogwood, Victor of the 66th Hunger Games.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Dawn

**Chapter One - Dawn**

Imagine a world similar to your own. It’s not hard. Look out your window - if you have a window within your reach - and observe. Maybe there are trees, swaying slightly in a wind, their leaves being gently caressed by an invisible current. Maybe you see dirt, hard packed, lying in clumps around you, a rich aroma signifying nature, perhaps Earth itself. Or skyscrapers, shooting up into the air like rockets trying to achieve liftoff, silver-tiled roofs gleaming under the sun. And the sky. A brilliant, blinding blue; surrounded by clouds floating lazily as if pushed by a breath, quickly stolen away by the folds of the atmosphere. Or maybe it’s night, where an inky blackness surrounds you, solely lit by lights from a nearby city, twinkling in the distance.  


You get the image.  


What if I told you that everything, _everything,_ you see, could be gone in the span of a second? No more trees. No more dirt or skyscrapers or azure sky. 

It’s called death. And it’s a little more common here. 

So, when I stand here, on top of the tall white cliffs, wind whipping my face, I can’t help but think. _If I die. If I leave today and never come back, this will be the last time I see this place._ A world, literally sprawling around me, seeming to go on for ever and ever. Deep down - of course - I know it doesn’t. To the north are the smaller camps, places where you get sent if you’re poor or you don’t have enough talent to snag a good job back in the main body of the district. It’s more barren up there, freezing. I can’t imagine how they’d live in there, deep in the woods. Even now, despite the sun already having risen a while ago, I shiver as I sit perched on my height, staring down at the acres of forest. Whips of mist still seem to drift between the trees, tendrils of fog that dance around with seemingly malicious intent. 

I couldn’t survive up there, where nature rules. Where it’s cold and harsh and unforgiving. I like my home, in it’s small, warm, not-so-glorious glory. 

I couldn’t survive in the Games either, though.

“It’s getting late.”

The voice comes as no surprise, but I still whirl around to face the speaker. A girl, not much older than myself, with short dark hair and brilliant amber eyes stands, wrapping her arms tightly around her chest. Like me, she’s decked out in layers, feather-down jacket and a woollen hat. Her boots are caked with dried mud, despite the fact that it hasn’t rained in a long time, and she sighs deeply as she stoops down to sit next to me on the grassy perch. 

“Still freezing.” I retaliate, returning her concerned gaze. I don’t think either of us feels like talking today, but words go unsaid between us. She passes me a small black canteen, and warmth floods through my fingertips, despite already being covered by thick gloves.

“It’s always freezing in Seven, Ellis,” Llea sighs, taking a swing of her drink. Following her example, I take a similar sip from the flask, and I’m immediately grateful. The warm tea seems to almost seep into my veins, warming me in a flash. “It’s never _not_ freezing.”

I frown at her. “Liar. Remember last month?”  
  
“What, for a day?” she looks at me like I’m hopeless. “And even them, it was _still_ shitty weather.”

I remember that day. It seemed like an age ago - time draws on as the harshness of winter comes nearer - when we’d been graced with one day of reprise from nature’s cold grip. The morning had come like any other, slipped in through the cracks in my curtain in a stream of golden light. And when I had stared outside, it was like I knew something was different. The air was stagnant, as if holding it’s breath, and the world outside was still. When I stepped outside, I had felt sunlight - _real sunlight -_ on my skin, beating down on me, harsh warmth like I had never felt before. That day, nobody had worked much in the woods. During the summer, when days are longer, we’re all excused from school to work in the lumber forests, and Llea had been the first to call for a break. We’d sat under the trees, talking and laughing for hours, until the heavens opened up in a stream of warm summer rain. Back there, on that day, it felt like we’d been somewhere else entirely. Somewhere where there was no work, or peacekeepers, or games, or even the Capitol. Somewhere, deep in the woods, where we were finally free. It was as if the universe knew what was to come, and was giving us a day of reprise from long nights awake, frozen to the bone, eyes glued open from cold.

The next day was the first day of autumn. And with autumn, came the Games.

Nobody in Seven likes the games. For such a widespread area, we have a strikingly small population, so the risks of being chosen are much higher for everybody. That’s why, while usually Llea and I spend most of our time engaged in constant conversation, we don’t speak much today. Deep down I know the odds are still small, but it doesn’t help the relentless throbbing of fear that seems to grow like a cancer in my chest. 

“I liked the rain,” I turn my head to follow her gaze out into the wilderness.If you were to walk in that direction far enough, you’d reach the border with One. Our neighbours don’t like to venture into the small forestland, though, and there’s a giant wall separating the two, with only very few people being able to enter and trade the lumber they need to make furniture over there. “It was different.”  


“Of course you did.” she doesn’t say it sarcastically, rather like this is typical of me - which it is. “It’s you, Ellis. You like different.”

“What, like you don’t?” I turn to face her. “ _‘Hi, I’m Llea Porter and I hate all things cool and unique. I like to blend into a crowd and I definitely didn’t try to dye my hair blonde once, or burn holes in my ears to get them pierced. There’s totally nothing I like more than to be simple and boring._ ”

Despite herself, Llea laughs. “Trust you to be a little shit any day, Ell.” 

“Rude.”

“That’s not even insulting. Would you _really_ like me to go insulting?”

“Oh, shut the fuck up.” I roll my eyes, glad the fear’s dissolved a bit. I don’t need to wallow around in panic right now, I can do that once we get to the reaping. Right now I need to forget that it’s even a thing that’s about to happen, and Llea’s the best person for that.

There’s a brief pause as our conversation lulls for a bit. Finally, Llea speaks up again, brushing strands of dark hair behind her ear. Her hair isn’t even, she cuts it like that on purpose. I wasn’t lying when I said that she tried to dye her hair blonde once, she did. But, despite our status as an upper-middle class district, hair dye isn’t really easy to come by.

“I wonder what the other districts are doing today.” she says, under her breath. This comment takes me back for a second. It’s not like her to wonder about other people, that’s usually my job.

“Why’d you ask?”

“Just thinking. We see them every year, in the games, but I bet they live so differently than us.”  
  
“I dunno. It’s the Capitol I wonder about, to be honest. How’d they grow up to be such assholes?”

She groans. “Oh, please don’t go all psychology on me. I hate it when you do that.”  


Waggling my eyes suggestively, I lean in closer to her face. “Yeah? I bet you hate it because you have repressed thoughts and ideas that you don’t want me finding out. Or maybe you hate it because you subconsciously don’t want to find our yourself.”

Scoffing, she slaps my face away. “Where’d you come up with that bullshit, anyways?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know, hm?” 

“I said, fuck off Ellis.”

“ _Never.”_

Laughing, she pelts me with some small stones that have been scattered around our feet. In the distance, I can see small figures coming out of the forest, their bodies dancing through the wood. For most people, it’d be hard to see through the trees, (and without my glasses I’d be near blind) but we’ve grown to learn to pick up even the smallest thing in the woods. Usually animals are scared off by the hard noise of axes, and the stampede of boots on the undergrowth, but sometimes we’ll come across one or two. At the sight of them, we both stop.

“Guess it’s time to go, huh?” her voice seems to have a dropped an octave.

I sigh, standing up and brushing the dirt off my trousers. Despite my gender, Llea and I stand at roughly about the same height - she’s fairly tall, I’m fairly short - which she often teases me about. Granted, she’s a year older, so maybe it makes a bit of sense. I can easily see the concern in her eyes, as she stares behind me.

“Two more years for you.” I try to keep my voice upbeat. “Then it’ll all be over.”  


She sighs. “Yeah, I guess it will.” Clearing her throat, she tries to mimic my tone. “At least I get to wear a nice dress.”  
  
“Exactly!” Deep down, I’m not sure I trust Llea’s sense of style. To me ‘dark and about as short as her thighs’ isn’t exactly reaping material, but whatever makes her happy, I guess. It’s funny how Llea and I are friends. She’s pretty obsessed with keeping a ‘coolkid’ image about her, whereas I pretty much just go with what I go. She’s pretty mean. I can’t insult anyone for shit. At least we both share the same sense of humour. We’ve been friends for years, though, ever since I got caught too high up a tree to come down as a kid, and she sat with me until an adult came along. Though the gesture seemed sweet, I think she just meant to taunt me about how stupid i was to get stuck in the first place.  


Gosh, I don’t know what I would do without her.

People often pair us together as a couple, which we’re far from. It’s not that I’ve never considered it - though that was brief, and I got scared at the prospect immediately - but rather, Llea’s gender preference ranges on the side of feminine. And though she’s told me on numerous occasions that I’m the ‘ _ultimate girl’,_ it would never work. Which is fine by me.

“Er…” I pause, not knowing what to say. We’ll have to part ways here, she lives on the other side of the clearing. That’s how it works in Seven. There’s not really any neighbourhoods, or structure in where people live, nor is there any central point for people to gather other than the centre of town, where the market and shops are. The school is situated a little bit away, but as this is reaping day, it’s obviously closed. “I guess I’ll see you there?”  


“Yeah, you will.” she nods. “Clean yourself up, Ell.” 

“Don’t I always?” That’s sarcasm, of course. I don’t care much for my appearance, and I can come across as rather scruffy sometimes.

“Yeah, yeah.” she yanks at my curly hair. “Try to comb that monster too.”

“Don’t insult my hair!” I turn to her. “But really…”

“I know.” she pauses. “See you soon.”

It’s our standard goodbye. “See you soon.”

Parting our separate ways, I make my way through the woods, trudging over roots and branches and I walk the path I know like the back of my hand. 

As I walk, I begin to think. I know that the odds of me getting chosen are so small, I shouldn’t be bothered, but I am. Just the thought of being up there, in the arena, makes my blood run cold. Surrounded by people who want you dead - and I’m not just talking about the tributes - makes me feel sick, and as much as I try to block it from my mind, it creeps back in. _I couldn’t do that. I couldn’t kill anyone. I don’t know how to handle a weapon, or how to run fast, or how to outsmart people. The only thing I am is silly and stupid, and when I’m scared, I’m not even that. I wouldn’t survive a second._

It doesn’t take me long to reach my home, a small, one-story house in a small clearing. A river runs behind it, with laundry drying on hard rocks nearby the current, and a tiny pile of firewood lying by the entrance. Yanking off my dirty boots, I peep my head in the door.

“Aspen?” I call for my sister. “You there?”

“Coming!” the familiar voice is nearby, and immediately my sister’s face appears around the doorway of her room. She and I look alike, wavy ash-brown hair and skin dotted with moles and freckles. However, while my eyes are an indeterminable greenish blue, hers are a light brown, and creased with worry. Despite only being about ten years older than me, in this moment, she looks old enough to be my mother. “You’re late.”

“Sorry.” I say, though I’m not really sorry. 

“And he lies,” she sees right through me. “You were dragging it on, weren’t you?” I give a non-comical shrug. I _do_ have a tendency to procrastinate, and this is no exception. “C’mere.”

“Nooo,” I groan as she strides across our small living room and grabs me into a headlock. “Getoffme.”

“ _Never_.” Aspen sounds like she’s joking, but I know how worried she is. She clings onto my, and the headlock turns into a hug, “You’ll be fine, you know that, right?” she sounds like she’s trying to convince herself more than me. 

“I’ll be fine.” I repeat, not really believing the words. It’s hard - even for me - to remain optimistic on a day like this. “Really, Aspen.”

It takes a moment, but eventually she lets go. “Go get changed.”

“Kay.” I take that as a cue to leave into my room, closing the door gently behind me. My room is a mess, dirty clothes strewn haphazardly on the floor, my bed undone and my blanket crumpled from a night of tossing and turning. Laid out on the floor near the door is my outfit. Grey button-up shirt and dark pants. Shivering as I change out of my jacket, I pull them on as quickly as I can, and attempt to tame the wild curls of my hair. I fail, of course.

Peering into the tiny mirror that stands near my door, I try my best winning smile. With my nerves, it comes across as crooked and wavering. I try again. Better. 

Smiling’s my only defence. I can smile. I can joke. I can be my stupid, sarcastic self, that much is easy. I’m not an idiot, and I know that if I can get sponsors on my side, maybe I could survive longer than anticipated. So, every year before the reapings, I try to smile. If I get chosen, I’ll pull a smile on my face, and act like I actually _have_ won a lottery. 

Smiling. The last defence of the doomed. 

_Except I’m not doomed._  


(Somehow, I doubt that.)


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter Two- Fate

"Ellis, hurry up! You're going to be late!"

I groan at my sister's voice piercing through the paper-thin walls of our home. "Why can't I be?" There's nothing I'd like more to do than ignore the prospect of the upcoming reaping, and just pull my head under the blankets, blocking out the outside world. Unfortunately, I know that's not the case.

"Because you'll be executed on the spot if you don't show." her voice returns in a sharp order. "Come on."

"Hnnngggg…." I sigh, pulling myself out of my bedroom without a second glance. "There. Happy?"

"Not exceptionally so," she sighs, and I know she's not talking about me. There's a faraway look in Aspen's eyes, and I can tell how nervous she is. Funnily enough, the fear hasn't exactly hit me yet - yes, I'm nervous, but the prospect of it being me seems foreign. The odds are quite low, I remind myself, so maybe that's why you're not shitting yourself like you should be.

Without another word, Aspen almost pulls me out of the comfort of our house. Without my jacket the cold really hits me, like a punch to my gut, and it takes me a moment to catch my breath. My sister - interpreting this as fear - gives me a pitying gaze. I avert it. I haven't been reaped yet.

The trees around us become more sparse as we enter the inner section of the district, where buildings start to pop around us, like they've grown up from the ground. Around us, we pass numerous people of all ages. Older citizens, who stare at us with concerned eyes and distant gazes. Younger children, hands tightly wrapped around their parents', quietly murmuring their confusion. My peers, with whom I exchange a wry smile. Nobody feels like talking today.

In a way, it kind of makes me mad. I don't want to be scared, and for the most part, I'm not. But everyone else is. And I don't want anyone else to be scared either. I want everything to go back to normal, where there aren't any games, and we can just talk and laugh and forget anything ever happened. It makes me mad that people are scared. I want this all over, so we can go back to being normal.

Why can't anyone be optimistic?

I suppose that's a stupid thing to think. Of course nobody's going to be optimistic, especially on a day like this, when two people from our district are going to be sent to what is - most likely - death. Still, on days like this, the world can feel very void. It feels like we're all drifting apart from each other, caving into ourselves and not letting anyone else in. The sense of camaraderie that I'd felt that day in the woods is gone, replaced with something utterly despondent and cold. Colder than the woods, and definitely colder than I'd like.

I suppose that's what the Capitol wants, isn't it? For us to retreat into ourselves, not wanting to talk or band together. The games pit district against district, ensuring that the hatred between us remains strong enough that we'll never have the power to rise again. Even within districts, the tributes still need to kill one another. It makes us divided.

Regardless, I try to smile at the people I pass as we make our way down the main street. Usually at this time of day the small wooden stalls that house merchants would be full of people yelling out prices and stuffing items in your face. Meat, clothing, alcohol, the usual. Today is different. If not for the people, slowly trudging to the roped-off areas in the distance, this place would look like a ghost town. There's a palpable tension in the air, almost as if the street itself is holding its breath, waiting. A bead of water drops from above, hitting my shoulder. Looking up, I can see the sky is a gloomy grey, clouds spilling over the horizon. Pathetic fallacy, I think to myself. I've always been good at literature and analysis of novels and poems. It's a basic part of curriculum, and we dropped it years ago when they started to streamline learning back into knowledge of trees and plants, but it still remained in my head. Sometimes, when I read, I look for interpretations, reading in between the lines. It's something, at least, I'm good at.

Not like it does me any good in Seven. It wouldn't do me any good in the games, either. If I was to be reaped. Which, hopefully, I'm not.

Hopefully being the key word, there. But I like to hold hope and faith. Llea says it's one of my assets.

Speaking of, I can see her now. She stands a few feet away, but it's not hard to spot her from within the crowd. She's taller than most girls, and you can see the effort she's made to rip off the hem of her dress, to make it shorter. It's less drastic than I suspected, and I breathe a sigh of relief. Except for the unfortunate ripping, it's quite nice, a light blue which looks flattering on the tan of her skin.

"Llea!" I call, waving her over. Aspen stands by me as I do, I'm not going to let her go any time soon. Unlike me, however, Llea doesn't have any family she really cares about around right now. Her parents are off somewhere in the deeper edges of the forest, slaving away for their daughter, and can't make it back. There's hardly any form of communication. If she's reaped, her parents might not even know until they see it on the tiny television they bring with them out there. The Hunger Games are still required viewing, no matter how hard you're slaving away.

She walks over, giving me a look. "Nice outfit. Could've fixed the hair, or taken off the glasses." she notes, slightly sarcastically.

I roll my eyes. "What, like this is one of those stupid Capitol runway shows? Nobody cares, Llea."

She nods at the camera crew scattered around, setting up and getting shots of the kids lining up behind velvet rows. "They do. The Capitol likes attractive tributes. If you're reaped-"

I cut her off. "Which I'm not." I try to sound as confident as I can, but I think she can tell that I'm putting it on, a bit. Usually I can fool most people about things, but not Llea. "Don't worry your pretty little head."

"Says you," she retorts. "Though, going back to the subject of heads, you don't even looked like you tried with your hair."

"Rude, " I sigh. "Don't insult my genes."

Aspen butts in. "We share the same genes, Ellis, and you don't see my hair looking like that." Despite her worry, my sister winks at Llea. The two have always gotten along well. "I'm praying for you, Llea."

Llea gives her a small smile, her eyes darkening as the line gets thinner. "Thanks," she turns to me. "I'll see you soon, Ellis."

I nod. "See you soon."

It's not been a second since Llea leaves that Aspen grabs my shoulders. "She's right, you know."

"About what?"

"Appearances. They mean a lot to the Capitol. Remember."

"Aspen, you're sounding like I'm going to be reaped."

"I know." she breathes heavily. "Just, making sure. I don't want to see you get hurt."

I shake my head. "I won't, Asp. I promise."

She pats me on the back, breathing a shaky sigh. "Yeah. I'll see you soon, okay?"

"Righto, you will." I bring my voice up to more of an upbeat tone. "Then you'll feel silly for being so worried."

"I hope." Aspen smiles.

Hope. Again. I can hope.

Once she's gone, I'm left alone. The boy's line is longer, and I'm stuck between a tiny 12-year-old kid and a guy who looks as thin as a rail. I tap my foot impatiently, as the line stubbornly refuses to move. As I do, my eye passes across a group of thirteen-year-old girls. One, at the front, who has deep brown eyes and choppy hair, is speaking.

"-all about angles. Why else do you think people win. You need to play an angle, even if it's a bad one, because to win, you need to be remembered."

I frown, staring at the back of her head. I can't say I recognise the kid, but her words ring in my head, parred with the idea of images that Aspen and Llea have drilled into my head. Angles, huh?

Before I can entertain the thought in my head any longer, however, because the bored voice of the peacekeeper calls out to me.

"Next."

I manage to slot myself in the sixteen-year-old section, next to some kid about twice my height, that I don't recognise. However, I do know some of the people around me, and exchange worried smiles. I scan around, but can't see Llea. Oh well. This will be over soon

The heavens open up just as our escort, Persephone, walks up onto the stage. Persephone's an odd escort, I suppose - she'll not extremely tall, nor is her hair exceptionally big, which is usually the Capitol style. In fact, she's dressed in what looks like funeral clothes, fishnet gloves and a black cap covering half her head. Her skin is powdered pure white, and her lips are bright red. It's a little morbid as it is, but especially in a context like this. It almost looks like she's mourning our deaths already. Ahem, the deaths of the tributes, I mean.

She gives a distasteful sigh, as the clouds let down a light drizzle over up, as if this is ruining her, which it isn't. The stage is covered by a canopy of brightly coloured cloth - another annoyance of mine, as it's a bit ironic to celebrate such an occasion with festival colours - so she'll be completely unscathed from the rain. In fact, I'd think that gloomy weather would fit right into her aesthetic, but I could be wrong. Who knows with Capitolities?

"Welcome, District Seven, to the 68th Annual Hunger Games." she gives us a wide, shark-like smile that looks odd when put on her grim clothing. "As is customary, I will now introduce the victors from this … wonderful … district."

Yeah, yeah, Persephone. We all know how much you hate it here.

We've not had a lack of victors, but we sure have had a lack of female ones. Out of all that are alive today, only one woman stands. I'm unsure who's mentoring this year, but I just clap politely as they take their seats. Seven hasn't had a winner in a while.

"Well…" Persephone starts, once they've all been sat down. "Let's start with the females, shall we?"

I can feel my heart practically exploding in my chest as she makes her way to the podium at the side of the stage, where a large bowl full of names stands. Please, not Llea. Persephone reaches a black nail in, and pulls out a slip of paper.

"Manon Ernesse."

Immediately, I breathe a sigh of relief, followed by a feeling of guilt. I know Manon, don't I? As I see her head to the stage, I realise I do. She's my age, and in my year at school. We're not friends, but we're friendly enough, I suppose. She's a nice girl, outgoing with a funny sense of humour. Llea finds her cute.

She's not smiling now, though, as she heads to the stage. I can see her legs shake, and she stumbles over one of the stairs as she makes her way up. Manon's not very tall, average height, with white-blonde wavy hair ending at about her shoulders. Her eyes are slightly made up, but are creased with worry.

Poor girl. I can only imagine the trouble she's about to face.

However, my pity doesn't last long, as Persephone asks for silence as she makes her way to the bowl on the other side of the stage. I catch the guys around me draw in a breath as she calls out that she's about to pick the male tribute. I can feel my heart rate just about triple as she makes holds her hand over the bowl.

Logically, Ellis, it won't be you. Look at all these people.

However, all the denial and assurance breaks away once she picks the slip of paper. Time seems to go in slow motion, her long-nailed fingers pulling open the slip. Shit. No. I'm wrong, and it could be me. It could be me, and oh, god, I'm so screwed.

As it turns out, I am screwed.

"Ellis Dogwood." she calls out, in her high pitched, slightly nasally voice.

If the cold was a punch to the gut, this is like being stabbed. It seems all the air's been knocked out of me, and I inhale sharply, trying to steady myself so I don't fall. I hear a voice, someone's voice, maybe Aspen's, cry out.

The crowd of boys around me parts, and someone grabs my hand and squeezes it.

I was about to follow Manon's example and march solemnly up the stairs, refined to my fate, but something stops me. As much as I'd just want to burst into tears where I stand - and it probably hasn't even hit in yet that I'm going to die - something stops me.

Llea said appearances are important.

That thirteen-year-old girl talking about angles.

So - and I don't know how I do this - I steady myself. It comes as a surprise, even to me, that I can do this, and I can see the confused glances of my district.

It takes a try, but I manage to smile, just like I did back home. A beat. Another beat. Then I start walking.

It's just going through the motions, is all. Stand. Smile. Look confident - as if I've won the lottery (which, ironically, I have). Look at the camera. Good.

Persephone is confused, but a little impressed. I can tell by the glint in her eyes as she shakes my hand. Still, my hands are shaking, so it's obvious she can tell that I'm deathly afraid. I stand next to Manon.

Up here, I can tell that she's just a bit shorter than me. And that's when it hits me, when it really, truly hits me. I can't win. No matter how much bullshit I can shove down the Capitol's throats, I'm not strong enough to win. I'm adequate with an axe at best, I'm not even good at calculating or anything scientific at all. All I can do is analyse books and do a little psychology. Where is that going to get me? In the arena, it's 'survival of the fittest' to the max. And I, in no way, am the fittest. I'm short. Thin. Weak. I have no edge, and I'm not fast. I'm just cannon fodder, a plaything to be demolished.

I'm going to die.

I nearly break down again, as the mayor reads out some passage I can't listen to right now. My throat catches, and I think I'm about to let out a strangled sob, when we're asked to shake hands.

I turn, trying to avoid Manon's eyes. Odds are, we'll both be dead in a week.

But then she squeezes my hand.

I don't think that's ever happened before, but it gives me an energy, if just a bit, to turn back and give the camera another smile. Come on Ellis. You're only doomed if you give them nothing. Even a smile is a something.

Of course, I can't let them believe I have hope unless I actually have it myself.

So, have hope. After all, you said it yourself. That was the one thing you can do.


	3. Hope

The door swings shut behind the Peacekeeper, leaving me alone in the small room. This is my last destination in District Seven, I think to myself, my eyes glazing over as I stare at the back of the wooden door. My hands are still shaking, and I've clenched my fists so tight that my nails have left marks on my palms. Taking a deep, shaky breath, I lower myself into the light green seat at the far corner of the room.

The first thing I notice is how soft the chair is. I seem to almost sink into it, the pillow made of a soft velvet material. I didn't even know that there were items like this in District Seven. For a moment, I let myself relax and enjoy it. It helps me calm down and collect my thoughts. I don't want to be incoherent when I see the people I care about for the last time.

It only occurs to me a while later that I'm not the first person to have sat down here, and I won't be the last. My mind scans the list of 67 other people who have sat down in this room, maybe even in this chair. 60 of them, dead. Only seven males from my district have ever won, and one female. District Seven doesn't exactly have a track record of winners for the Games.

No, the odds are not in my favour.

Before I can dive even deeper into the hole of self-pity and fear, however, the door swings wide open. For a moment, I think the person standing in the doorway is Aspen. Same tall figure, curly dark hair and porcelain skin. But, where Aspen has hazel eyes, this woman's eyes are an indistinguishable grey. Like my eyes.

"Mom?"

I can tell I'm right by the way she looks at me, a melange of doubt and fear and remorse. For a moment, I'm not sure what I should do. Walk up and hug her? Turn her away? Yell at her?

Instead, I just stand there.

"Ellis…" she starts, and her voice is just how I remember it. Eloquent and poised. Just like mine. Llea says it makes me sound snobbish sometimes, but I think it's more striking on hers. It takes me a moment to realise that I haven't heard that voice for seven years. "I'm so sorry."

"For what, the fact that I got reaped, or the fact that you abandoned me?" I don't know where the biting retort comes from, perhaps it's the pent up anger at her and the sudden anger at the Capitol for everything. For the stupid games and for reaping me and for pulling people away from each other. For not letting normal people in Seven have velvet chairs and for not letting Llea see her parents and for everything in between.

She looks as if she's been slapped. "You're allowed to be mad at me."

"I know. I am."

"It was wrong of me to leave."

"Without a goodbye? Without a letter of explanation or incentive, nothing? Without telling us where you were going? Without assuring us that the reason you left wasn't because you didn't love us, or care about us? Yeah, real wrong, Mum."

Tears swarm in her eyes, and all the anger fades in a second. No. No, I don't want this. I don't want my situation to make me into a cold, harsh person like the ones you see on camera. I don't want to alienate someone who, deep down, I do still love.

"W-wait!" I say, worried she'll leave. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

"No," she sighs, sitting down across from me and placing her hand on my knee. "You have every right to mean everything you said. I just want you to know that I love you and your sister, and I'd never leave because I didn't love you."

I don't ask why she left. Not now.

"You're so grown up." her voice is soft as she takes me in. "I only ever think of you as a boy."

"I'm not a little kid anymore, Mum."

"No, you're not." she looks up, identical eyes meeting. "But you're still too young for this. It isn't right."

"C'est la vie." I smile at her, slightly. It's something she taught me when I was a kid - a language I can hardly remember. Our family didn't hail from Panem, originally, and so small phrases from whatever language we originally spoke has been passed down through our generations. It's a secret, of course. Speaking like this is illegal.

"Mon chou," she replies, her voice barely audible. "Garde l'espoir."

"Yeah, mum. I will."

And then she's gone.

It takes a moment for me to realise what's happened. She came back. After seven years, she came back. And, as mad as I still am, I'm also happy. She must have been at the reaping. Which means she still cares.

The next person to walk through the door really is Aspen. She walks up, and without saying anything, wraps her arms around my shoulders, her sobs stifled by the fabric of my shirt.

"I s-shouldn't have said - I shouldn't h-have jinxed it. It's my fault."

I pull back. "Asp, no. It's not anyone's fault." Her hazel eyes are glistening, and in that moment, she looks even younger than me.

She sniffs. "And I'm supposed to be the one comforting you."

"You are. Kind of."

"Oh, Ellis."

I decide not to tell her about Mom, if just for now. I've got a feeing they'll see each other soon. "I'll be okay. I'll make sure it'll be quick."

"No."

"What?"

"No." The teary look on her face has changed into one of determination. "It won't be quick, because it won't happen at all. I'm not letting you die."

"Asp…" my voice falters. There's no way I'll survive, and she knows it. "There are so many people who know what they're doing. I'm weak. I can't even tie my own shoelaces properly, let alone kill someone."

"Well, guess you'll just have to double knot them, then." Despite myself, I smile. "You're making it out. Big sister's orders."

"You know I never listen to your authority."

Aspen shakes her head, a distant look in her eyes. "Then make this the first time you do. Got it?"

"Got it."

There's a hollow feeling in my chest as I watch her go, as if a part of me has been torn out and taken with her. I've always been around her. I watched her pick up the broken pieces of our lives seven years ago, and stick them back together. I watched her as she took two jobs just to feed us, and as she turned down her own social life, and her boyfriend, just to keep us alive. I watched her as she stitched a gash on my leg when I was twelve. I watched her smile as she accepted her new job, a job which she didn't love, but a job which she would make herself love, just for us.

And now, I'm watching her go.

I don't realise Llea's entered the room until I feel her arms wrap around me. It shocks me for a second, she's never been one for hugs. But as I turn around, I realise that she's not hugging me. She's putting something around my neck.

"Your pendant?"

"It's not like there's anything in it." she shrugs, her face completely determined. "It's your token, now."

"Wow, and I don't get a say? I kind of find it ugly."

"Classic Ellis Dogwood, ladies and gentlemen. Grateful for everything."

I let out a light chuckle. It's funny how Llea can make any situation into a bright one. "Y'know it."

"You okay?"

I raise my shoulders. "It's weird. I'm not actually terrified anymore. Is that normal?"

"I dunno, I've never been reaped before."

"I'll tell you, it's not very fun."

She lets out a light peal of laughter. "Keep the humour. The Capitol will love it."

"You think the Capitol's my best bet?"

"Hella, Ellis. I'm betting on you. And I'm not the betting type."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

She smiles again, but I can tell it's kind of forced. A moment passes, and this time she wraps her arms around me for real. "Come home safe, okay?"

"Okay, Llea." my voice is muffled, and I'm happy that she can't see how my eyes are tearing up. It's really been a rollercoaster of emotions over the past hour.

She pulls back, and I can tell her eyes are shining too. "I'll see you soon?"

"See you soon."

A standard goodbye.

But now that I've said it, I realise that I need to fulfil it.

I've never been in a car before, so the experience of sitting down on the leather seat is new. Manon sits across from me, her hands tightly clenched around a round object - her token, perhaps. Next to her, sits one of the two mentors we'll be getting this year, Vera Ash. She's a fairly tall woman, with pin straight dark hair pulled into a ponytail and fairly sharp features. I can't say I'm not intimidated by her, because I am, and it's not just because of her appearance. I'm not too familiar with her games, she won about 15 years ago, but I do know that she won by handcrafting all of her weapons - that year was the one where they didn't provide any. It doesn't seem that bad, we in Seven are unsurprisingly skilled when it comes to woodworks, but the fact that she had in fact created the items of people's demise makes me feel uncertain. Though, perhaps more, is the small piece of wood in her hand. Sure, I know it's not like she's going craft a weapon now and stab me, but the feeling remains.

"Ellis. Nice to meet you. I'm Vera, and I'll be mentoring your district parter, Manon. Though, if you do need any help, I'm here for you too. Blight should be here any second."

My heart falls. Blight? Blight, the stoic man of few words is going to be my mentor? His angle is going to directly clash with mine. Neither he, nor Vera ever relied on sponsors, which is practically my only hope.

Manon must notice how my face falls, because she tries for a comforting glance, but it kind of fails. I can understand that. Instead, she bites her lip and turns back to Vera. She's probably scared of me. I realise. I don't think walking up like I did is going to score me very many friendship points with her.

Though, I try to remind myself. I shouldn't want to be friends with Manon.

"Quentin is your son, right?" she asks Vera. A look of surprise flitters past her mentor's face, quickly replaced by a small nod.

"Fifi's taking care of him at home while I'm away. You know him?"

Manon nods. "He's in my gathering team." She's talking about our lumber groups, of course. We're split into teams of twelve in the summer, each put into a different location to gather as much as we can. I have a feeling Vera's going to like Manon a lot more.

A moment passes, and a peacekeeper raps on the window. Frowning, Vera looks at him, and turns back to us.

"I'll be a moment."

Manon and I exchange glances as she slides out of the car to attend to whatever it is the peacekeeper wants. There's a moment of awkward silence, as neither of us say anything.

"Are you okay?" It's lame, but it's all that I can muster.

"Y-yeah. No. I guess?" she shrugs, averting my gaze slightly. I sigh. So much for camaraderie."

A beat. And then she speaks up again.

"You were faking it, when you walked up to the stage, right?" It's obvious that she's been wondering about it from the way she says it, as if uncertain it'll backfire on her.

"No." I deadpan. "I'm totally excited to be sent into a death match, Manon. Totally."

It's the right thing to say, at the very least. She smiles slightly, a much larger improvement from when she was scared of me.  
"Good. I thought you were a psychopath."

"Hm?" I give her a sly look. "Who knows I'm still not, huh?"

"Me." she's really smiling this time. "I can tell."

"You're meeting all my standards for friendship." I joke. "You can tell psychopaths from non-psychopaths. What next? Are you going to tell me that you can cook. Because hell, if you can, I might just make you my new best friend."

Her face falls, and I internally slap myself. Shoot, was that too far? I've totally alienated myself now, haven't I?

"Friends?" she sounds uncertain, brushing white-blonde strands behind her ears. "But, what about … y'know? Are friends a good idea?"

I let the joking tone disappear. "I don't know. But I want at least someone to talk to, don't you?"

She looks out the window to Vera. "Yeah. I do."

"So," I force myself to keep my voice upbeat. "Let's make a pact. Save the Games-ey stuff to the mentors. We're just going to be normal friends, from now on."

"Is that really how friendship works?"

"Who makes the rules? I say we try to forget the games, when we're together. Even if we don't ally, let's still be friends. At least for a week."

"At least for a week." Manon echoes. "Friends."

I smile at her, just as Vera slips into the car. She looks slightly off, as if something's ruffled her feathers.

"Change of plan, we'll meet your mentor at the train. Warning you two, at the station, there'll be cameras. Whatever you do, keep your image constant." She's looking at me. Seems like I'll have to keep up the charming boy attitude.

Turns out, she's right. There were a lot of cameras. My cheeks ache from all the smiling and posing by the time I get into the train, and Manon looks equally as exhausted. I'm about to just flop down into one of the plush sofas lining the hallway, when someone catches my eyes. It's Persephone and another man, one that I don't recognise at first. I was expecting Blight, but instead there's another mentor standing there.

Kiln Flitch was the victor of the 52nd Games, and I don't know much about his either - other than the fact that he had a hit list of only two, and that he was pretty popular with the Capitol. Which bodes very well for me. He's got quite long blonde hair (surprisingly, that's uncommon in Seven), blue eyes and quite a strong jaw. Next to Vera, he seems hardly professional at all.

"You're a smart kid." he says, and it takes a moment to realise that the words are directed at me. "Got a game plan already, huh?"

I look at him with confusion. "More spur-of-the-moment, actually."

"Well, it worked. I wanted you. Swapped out with Blight."

"You want me?" I'm surprised. I'm hardly much to go on. I'm hardly handy with an axe, except for the usual talents, and I don't exactly have any endurance. "Why?"

"Because you'll get sponsors." he looks at Manon. "You too, if you put it on like Ellis. You're good looking enough, girl."

I'm surprised. I didn't expect Kiln to be this forward. He's usually quite detached back home, and keeps to himself in is house, designing buildings and such. Still, I can see something in his eyes. Oh. He has hope for us, this time.

"What, am I not good looking?" It's a joke, and Manon picks up on, sniggering slightly. A look flashes on his face, of slight confusion and annoyance. Vera picks up on the sarcasm too, and I can tell even she's slightly amused. Eventually, Kiln gets it.

"Keep the sarcasm. Change the hair."

I pull a face, and turn to Manon. "Everyone keeps insulting my hair. Is it really that bad?"

She smiles. "I like your hair."

"See. I'm going to trust my friend."

Both Kiln and Vera look surprised. "Friends? You two are allying already?"

"We don't know." Manon speaks up, instead of me."But we're friends at least."

Friends at least.

Good, Manon. Good. Don't let the Games change who you are because you're scared. Keep on living. Even if it's just a week. Keep on smiling if you want to. Don't let them stop you. Make friends. Make enemies. (Actually, don't make enemies. You might want to keep yourself from being doomed.)

Don't let the games stop you being you.


	4. Chapter 4

"This can't be real."

Manon's words mirror my own awe at the foot that sits across from us at the table. It seems to go on endlessly, a buffet of bread and drinks that line the centre of the linen-covered table. To our left and right and small carts carrying delicacies that I don't know what to name. Small roasted potatoes in a creamy sauce, smoked salmon - we hardly ever get fish in Seven - and flat bread covered in an assortment of cheeses and herbs.

"Oh, it is." a high lilting voice comes from the end of the table, and I look up to spot Persephone. She hasn't spoken much since we arrived - in fact she wasn't even in the car when we headed up. I assume she was with Kiln, escorting him up to the train a bit later. Both of our mentors sit opposite us, engaged in low conversation that I can only assume pertains to their strategy for us. If I'm honest, we haven't really spoken since we got on the train. Right after we were introduced to each other, we were given a tour of the train and Manon and I retired into our rooms to 'relax'.

The rooms themselves were huge, easily half the size of my house back in the woods. It had a bed covered in satin sheets and numerous pillows, each with a different purpose. A large glass door covered one side of the wall, with the other holding a large screen with access to every single channel broadcasting across Panem. When I switched it on, I was greeted with people crowding the streets of the Capitol, engaging in the pre-games festivities. I turned it off rather quickly.

Surprisingly, when I sat alone in my room, however, I didn't seem to feel anything. I thought that maybe I was just forcing myself to be okay around people - and that when I was alone it would be the moment where I would let myself feel. But instead, as I stared out of the window, I found myself feeling just as normal as before. Not numb, I suppose. Just calm.

Maybe I lied to Manon. Maybe I am a form of psychopath.

(Well, actually, it'd fit more into sociopathic behaviour, but I know that I have empathy, so it can't really be that.)

"Ellis!" I jump up at the sound of my name - I've been staring at my empty plate. I look up to see Vera looking at me, brow creased in both confusion and pity.

"Huh? Uh-ba, what?" I splutter, confused myself. Manon smiles at my verbal failure, and I give her a mock mad glance, "Sorry?"

"I was just asking if you'd like to have some juice, is all." she gestures to the wide array of brightly coloured drinks that line the centre of the table, each decorated with shaved ice in a way to keep them cool. Ice! Awesome,

"Oh, yeah - thanks." I say, and my hand hesitates, not knowing which one to choose. I end up going for a light green one - despite not knowing the flavour. Green's my favourite colour, anyways.

The taste isn't exactly what I expect. It's sweet, but refreshing at the same time, and quite tangy. It's nothing I've ever tasted before, that's for sure. Noticing my odd expression, Vera laughs slightly.

"It's guava," she says. "You won't find it anywhere but the Capitol."

"It's nice." I say, frowning at the drink. How odd, that there are all these things I have no idea about. I wonder what else I'll learn here.

"Well!" Persephone holds out gloved hands to gesture to the carts around us. She's changed from her funeral-outfit to another dress, though her skin remains it's freakish white. With her red lipstick and stand-out brows, she looks almost like a vampire. Still, she seems polite enough - I suppose. "Serve yourselves."

Nodding to us, Vera stands up, leading us to follow. I notice that Kiln hasn't said anything to us yet, nor has he even gotten up. In fact, he almost seems to be observing us, as if trying to get a gauge at how to approach us. I brush the thought from my mind - however - as the scent of food attracts me. It's a difficult decision, but I end up going with the flat bread with cheese, some sort of a salad, and a form of animal ribs. I don't want to overdo it - we eat fine in Seven anyways - just in case. Plus, I want to save room for whatever dessert is.

"So," Kiln starts, a little while after he's grabbed a plate of his own and we've all dug in. The meat is so tender it practically melts in my mouth, and Manon next to me seems to be savouring every bite of whatever it is she's chosen. "Let's find a way to start. Tell us about yourselves."

Manon and I exchange a slight glance. I know we have to work out angles, and the fine details of what's going to happen next, but I didn't expect it to happen so soon. I suppose that we don't have very much time, so we have to make do with what we have. After all, every second after this counts, doesn't it?

Manon decides to go first. "Well, my family and I live in the main body of the district." she starts. That already says a lot. The closer you are to the centre, the more money you have, so she must have quite a bit. Since Aspen and I live - lived - a few minutes walk away, we're more on the fortunate side.

"My mum works in the school, and my dad's in change of a lumber group. I have a younger brother - he's twelve - and I spend a lot of time with him, because both of my parents are always working. I do a lot of art, but I don't think that'll help."

"You draw?" I interrupt. "I never knew."

"Yeah, from time to time. I've never had anything proper to do it on, though."

"What else?" Vera leans in, eagerly listening to our conversation.

"Well-" Manon pauses to think. "I'm our group's tracker."

A tracker! That'll do her a lot of good in the arena. During the summer, and in lumber seasons, we're all sectioned off into small groups based on our skill, with each person having their own skill set. I know for a fact that out of the eight victors we've had, five have been trackers, including Vera - if I'm not mistaken. The other three were choppers, those are the ones that handle the heavy woodwork. Trackers are the ones who plan and map the paths that we follow, the ones who can calculate how much you take and how much you don't. They're strategists through and through.

Vera seems to agree that this is very good, a slight smile slipping through her lips. "That's very good, Manon."

Kiln interrupts. "Are you any good, though?"

"I guess?" Manon shrugs. "Our group does better than average, I suppose."

"Wait-" I pause, a thought coming to me. "Are you in Llea's group?" Manon nods.

"Well then," I turn to our mentors. "She's very good. Llea - my best friend- is their group's Porter, and she says that Manon can always get them to follow the best paths, and keep them out of danger. One time, there was a thunderstorm that caused a bunch of landslides, and Manon got them out of there unscathed."

It's a true story, and I can see how the top of Manon's ears turn slightly pink as I say it.

"She said that?" Manon asks.

"You betcha."

"Well then, you must be good." Kiln agrees, looking at Manon with a newfound respect. It takes a moment to realise why I wish I hadn't said anything - and the sudden emotion confuses me. Why would I want to put Manon at a disadvantage? And then I realise. If she's at an advantage, that's bad for me.

But I said I wouldn't think like that. Right?

"What about you, Ellis?"

Oh. Great. They're not going to be very impressed, I can tell. I don't have the intellectual capability to be a Tracker, and I sure as hell can't chop, nor can I be a porter. There are only a few jobs left.

"Scout."

I can see the way Kiln's face falls for a second, even though he tries to mask it, and I know it's not very good news. Scouts are the lookouts, I suppose. We go ahead while everyone else does the hard work. We find paths, check the weather, observe surroundings. It's more observation than anything out. Which works out fine there. But it's not exactly game-worthy material. No Scout has ever won the Games before.

"Well, that's not all that bad." Vera says, and I snap my head up, surprised. She must see the confusion register on my face, because she gives me another one of her half smiles. "At the very least, you'd know if someone was following you. Or if there was a Gamemaker trap. You shouldn't overlook that."

"I guess." I say, shrugging my shoulders. I've never been very proud of being a Scout, considering I'm not a very talented person to begin with - sans literature and psychology, but how are those going to help me?

"Yeah!" Manon speaks up, putting her fork down as she takes the last bite of whatever she was eating. "Plus, your strategy is all charisma, right? If you can read situations and people, that'll give you a hand. Especially if you can read alliances. And, I know you're into psychology. If you can mess up the Career alliance, we'd all stand a better chance at winning."

I think about it. I suppose she's right about that - the most winners from outer districts have been the ones who foil the Careers in some way. Still, I note the way she says 'we'd' stand a better change. I suppose that she doesn't want to say that I'm the one whose benefiting the most - that could imply her own death.

"Well!" Persephone speaks again. "That's all very good and all, but I believe that dessert is about to be served! How about we continue this conversation over some delicacies, don't you?"

As it turns out, the conversation drifts away from the Games as dessert is served. Instead, we begin to talk about Capitol fashion, and which we find more ridiculous. In fact, it's Persephone that starts the conversation. She seems to be more of a fashion 'hipster' in the Capitol, and is the first to criticise what people wear. Manon and I easily jump into the conversation - it's good to talk strategy, but I'd rather we do it after we watch the reapings. Kiln and Vera aren't too sure, however.

"This is a life or death situation. These are children we're talking about!"

"Exactly," Persephone's voice is unusually soft - and I feel a surprising wave of liking for her.

"They need to be strong!"

"And they will be. But for tonight, let's let them be kids."

The dessert is arguably better than the main course. Small platters of dark chocolate covered fruits - strawberries and bananas and some mushy sweet things called 'marshmallows'. Jars of creamy cake lined with crushed biscuits and some cold creamy delicacy known as 'ice cream', which I eat two bowls of. I love everything icy and cold, so this is right up my ally. I'm known for eating ice by itself, whole, too - but I refrain from doing that now. I don't want to weird out the others, even if it's not by much.

Eventually, when the meal is finished and the plates cleaned away, we make our way to the sitting room of the train to watch the reapings. However, before we switch the giant TV - it covers the entire wall - Kiln stops us.

"Remember that these people are your enemies, but they're also your allies. I have no doubt that you two will ally in the arena, but keep your eye out for any other potential partners. They can really help you out."

Vera's eyes narrow at this, and I can't help but notice the discrepancies between the two. Kiln allied with two other tributes, both of which were vital in ensuring his win, whereas Vera went solo the whole of her games. Manon and I glance at each other, but don't say anything.

"Something I don't want you to be around the Careers, or any other tribute for that matter - is scared. Manon, we know your angle is going to be intelligent. A smart person is scared, but they don't show it. Ellis, you're going to be the Capitol's golden boy from here on out, so they're already going to be paying attention to you. Don't give them any reason to believe you're more than a silly face. Don't undershow yourself, but don't outdo it either. The worst thing you want in the arena is to have made someone want to target you. Fly under the radar as far as other tributes go, got it?"

Manon and I both nod.

"Got it."

"Good." he sighs, as if this is his least favourite part of the Games. "Then let's go."

The first tribute we see is the girl from One. Not surprisingly, she's a volunteer, and her high, sharp voice calls out less than a split second after their escort has spoken into the microphone. She's tall and lean, though I can tell she's strong though, by her muscles legs that are exposed by the cut off of her dress. She's got long blonde hair in a high ponytail and grey eyes narrowed in determination, holding her head up high as she seems to emit confidence.

"Lustra Revnell," she says as she leans into the microphone, her voice sharp with professional determination. "Your next victor."

I bet the crowd will love that. But I can tell she's more than a pretty face.

The boy isn't a typical heartthrob like the One guys usually are, but I suppose that works in my favour, Instead, a tall guy walks up to the front, his face stony and cold. He looks like he could kill. He's also got blonde hair, but his is so dark it nears on brown, and his brown eyes scan the crowd as he makes his way up onto the stage.

"Eiffel Beaumont." he says. And that's it.

"Yeesh," Manon murmurs under her breath. "Talk about brooding."

The girl from two is stunning. She's small, but strong, and her dark brows are creased into what looks like slyness as she calls out her volunteer at the same time as another girl. However, it seems she's one step ahead of the other girl, casually tripping the other hopeful as she dashes onto the stage. Her dark hair is pulled into two side braids, and her mouth is full smirk.

"Heya. You probably already know me, but I'm Hera Hazelle." she gives a sly wink.

"Watch out for that one." Vera murmurs under her breath, and I have to agree.

The boy from two is equally as intimidating. He's stocky, with long hair pulled into a ponytail behind him, and tanned arms. He seems very pleased with himself, stretching his hands behind his head as he casually saunters to the front of the crowd. He introduces himself as Porter Sakda.

We get a shock in the form of a volunteer from three. It's a girl, with long dark hair that stands out against the paleness of her skin. She's not wearing reaping clothing at all, just a jacket covered with soot and a dusty skirt. I can tell she's trying to be confident as she walks up, but I catch the way her voice falters as she volunteers.

"She doesn't want to volunteer," I say, looking carefully at her as she makes her way up to the stage and introduces herself as Eden Dione. I can see that there's some sort of mark on her face, covered by her hood and hair, but I can't see her face properly. "Her voice caught as she called out."

Vera and Kiln exchange an approving glance, and Manon elbows me in the ribs.

"What did I say about being observant."

For careers, the couple from four don't really stand out to me, and there's not much I can say about them. I regain interest as we reach District Five, however.

The girl isn't much to talk about, a shy thing around fourteen. However, the boy's around my age. As the escort calls out his name - Devon Sanchez - the camera zooms in on him He's got tan skin and dark hair that seems to be styled in a false widow's peak. However, unlike most people who are reaped, he doesn't spend an awful lot of time looking shocked. In fact, though his amber eyes flitter with pain and confusion for a moment, he narrows them and continues walking. He's scared, there's no doubt, but there's an element of him that make it clear he won't give in.

I like him, I decide, but I see Vera's warning look.

I feel sorry for the girl from Six. She's maybe just a bit younger than me, short, with olive skin and fairly short hair. As her name is called, her eyes grow wide and she looks like she's gone into shock. She has to be marched up onto the stage by the peacekeepers, and she can barely say her own name - Edwina Trax. She seems fairly uncomfortable in the dress she's wearing, I notice, pulling it down as her hands tremble.

"Poor girl," Manon says.

The boy isn't as terrified, but I can see the fear in his eyes as he's called. Gilles Cadbury looks concerned as he makes his way step-by-step onto the stage, his honey-coloured eyes scanning the crowd and cameras as if reading them. I can tell he's trying to look strong, but his hands are tightly clenched behind his back,. He's terrified, but he's doing a good job of hiding it.

Then it's us. Manon looks stronger on camera than she did when we were in the town square, but she groans as she sees her face on the screen, and the way her eyes are completely downcast.

"So much for the smart angle," she groans, sighing. "I look like I'm about to cry."

"Don't worry," Vera looks her dead in the eye. "You're not doomed just yet."

And then it's my turn. I can tell my skin's gone at least three shades paler as I hear my name being called - and I'm pale to begin with. Still, I'm shocked by how convincing the smile looks on me. I actually look the part of someone on par with the Careers, charismatic and slightly cocky. I'm not particularity attractive, most other tributes this year are better looking than me by far, but I hope this makes me stand out.

Tributes from eight and nine don't stand out at all, and I note the boy from ten. He must be fairly good at acting, because I'm pretty convinced as he appears quite stable as he walks to the stage, leaning into the microphone to say his name.

"Allie Prescott," he says. I could imagine his being someone to worry about in the arena. He looks fairly strong, that's for sure, with a muscular build. Still, his brown eyes betray some fear.

The only last tribute that's noticeable is the girl from twelve. Tributes from that district are usually terrified, and that's exactly what happened with the boy tribute, who's tearing up on the spot. However, Moira Vulpine catches me off guard. She's older than me, and terribly thin, with hair the same colour as Manon's, yet long. However, that's not what throws me off. It's her lack of reaction. It seems almost as if the games mean nothing to her.

We're subdued as the reaping ends, and when we bid goodnight to each other, it's not with the energy we had at dinner. The videos have had a grounding effect on us - showing us that this is real, and not something we can forget about. Tomorrow, I'll meet those people in person. Tomorrow, I'll be thrust in front of the Capitol, like fresh livestock for sale, having to smile and laugh like I'm enjoying myself.

Tomorrow, tomorrow.

The window in my room is open from when I left it, and I'm greeted with a gust of cold air. However, even if my bare arms prickle with cold - I haven't changed out of my reaping outfit - I don't close the window. Instead, I walk all the way to the soft mini-sofa that sits by it, and look out of the window.

It hits me now, at least. The fear. The anticipation builds up like anxiety in my chest, and I can feel it in my blood, as if it's lead. It makes me feel heavy and jumpy at the same time. Everyone but one person I saw today will die. They'll die in brutal gory way that makes me feel sick just thinking about. I can't even watch the games, half the time, for the blood. How am I supposed to do this?

I, Ellis Dogwood, am a Scout. I'm the least physically prepared person, and evidently I'm not mentally prepared either. I can't handle blood, or gore. I've already started caring about Manon, when odds are we'll both die. I can't run, or hide, or fight. I hate confrontation. I'm a coward, and there are things I can't even admit to myself. I'm stubborn and jealous in the worst way possible.

Ellis Dogwood isn't a victor.

I let the feeling, the feeling of dread, wash over me as I close my eyes. The wind whips my face relentlessly, and I inhale the sharp scent of nature. If I close my eyes tightly enough, I can almost fake it. Pretend like I'm back home, and everything is okay. That someone else was reaped in my place. Call me selfish, whatever.

I don't realise I'm crying until I feel the wind makes the tears cool on my skin. And once I've started, I can't stop. Everything I've pent up until now lets itself out in a mess of bawling, hysterical sobs that shake me to my core.

I don't want to die.

I want to go home.


	5. Chapter 5

The morning seeps in through the open window, warm buttery light casting it's rays on my exposed face. My eyes water sharply as I try to open them, and for a moment I find myself disoriented as I gaze around the room I've found myself in. I can't see very much, not without my glasses, so everything is a blur of bright light and colour. Still, it would be obvious to anyone that I'm not at home anymore. This room is much brighter, with modern, simplistic furniture placed sparsely around the surrounding area. My room back home isn't cluttered, but I'm definitely not the neatest person, so there are often books and bags lying by my door. I'm kind of a 'cup hog', because whenever I take a drink I often leave the empty cup by my bed. Usually I end up having a collection, and often there'll be the clothes I left lying on the floor in a dirty heap to accompany them. However, there's nothing else by me this time, as I turn my head to peer across the expanse of the place I'm in. But this isn't my room.

It takes me a second to realise and remember exactly what's happen over the past 24 hours. The reaping. Goodbyes. The tributes. Everything that's gone to complete and utter shit.

I breathe in a deep sigh as I pull myself out of bed, ignoring every muscle in my body begging me to curl back into the soft mattress and shut down again. I know that I can't shut myself out. That'd be to my detriment, especially now. Right now I need to gather every single ounce of fighting power in my body to try to stay alive for as long as I can. So, instead, I force my arms into action. Grabbing my glasses from the nearby table, I take in my surroundings properly. We're moving at a high speed, the countryside outside of my window whizzing past in a blur of colours and motion. It mustn't be very late in the morning, however, as the sun is still low in the sky - suggesting it's around 8-ish. We're supposed to arrive at the Capitol within two hours, then. I feel the familiar pull of anxiety in my chest as I think of the days to come. I'll have to pretend to be so happy, and so honoured non-stop every time I'm around anybody who isn't in this train car, and I know it's going to exhaust me down to my core. I like people - for the most part. I like laughing and talking and joking. But not with the Capitol. Not with people who are going to be watching me with some sort of sick fascination, like they're just waiting to see my guts spill onto the floor and stain the ground crimson. I don't owe them anything. And yet, it seems, we've got to act like we're indebted to them.

Ah well. Strategies are strategies, and I've got to stick to my own.

I stand up, the slight feeling of vertigo swooping in my stomach as I do. I can get quite sick on moving objects - not like I have very much experience - and even though the rocking of the train is almost non-existent, the mayhem of countryside outside is giving my stomach a careful reminder of where we are. It passes after a second, however, and I'm up again, bare feet stepping onto the cold marble floor of the bathroom.

It's huge in here, perhaps the size of my bedroom back home, and I'm lost the second I walk in. To my left is a full length mirror, and behind me is what I assume is a shower. Except it doesn't exactly look like one. I can tell what the shower head is, but the rest of the knobs and dials give the the impression that I've been transported to some testing faculty in District Three. There's some weird slope thing that looks almost like a seat (You can sit down in Capitol showers? What's wrong with standing up?) and on the other side, there's an impressive rack of products - hair lotion and products that make your skin smell like lavender and mint. I decide to refrain from any of those - god knows that I'll be seeing plenty of similar products when I arrive at the Capitol - and instead just slip out of my nightclothes and turn on the water. Immediately, I'm greeted with a rush of ice cold water - which makes me jump and nearly bash my head against the side of the door. Jeez. It takes a while to get the water pressure right, but I manage fine. Once I get it to my liking, I let myself relax under the hot stream.

Okay, Ellis. Think. You've got to be as convincing as you possibly can. This time, you've got to sell yourself, and not look like you're acting. You've done it before. You can do it again. As much as I like to seem like I am, I'm not exactly a very sincere person. It's not like I lie every chance I get, that's equally far from the truth. I suppose that I have to force it, a lot of the time. Around friends. Family. People. And honestly, sometimes I don't know how much of me is real and how much of me is the part that's pretending. It's like that with Llea, with Vera and Kiln and Manon. I say things that - yes, I think and feel, but also things that I don't really understand. It's a weird melange of acting and sincerity. Maybe, I think, I just need to do that around the Capitol. Keep the tad of sincerity. Maybe it'll make me more believable. How hard can it be?

After a while of standing under the rush of water, I slip out of the shower. As I wrap a towel around myself, I catch a glimpse of my reflection in the mirror. It must be the biggest mirror I've ever seen - we only have one at home, but it's dusty and small. My own reflection stares back at me, eyes bleary and wide from the steam that's filling the room. My wet hair lies damp on my head, a mess of waves and tangles. I'm probably in need of a haircut, if I'm honest, as it's getting kind of long. Perhaps the stylists will want to change it. Still, I think, as I put on my glasses, I hope they won't make me wear contacts. I like my glasses.

When Persephone raps at my door to call for breakfast, I'm already there to answer it.

There was a wide assortment of clothes waiting for me in the closet, and I just picked a simple long sleeved button down and trousers. I suppose I need to look presentable even before the chariot rides, considering there's bound to be more cameras as we arrive at the Capitol. "You look refreshed," she notes, as I swing open the door. Today her hair is red, to match her crimson lipstick, and her fishnet gloves are replaced with sweeping witch-like sleeves.

"You might've wanted to dry your hair, though. There's a contraption that does just that."

I put on an easy smile that seems to come naturally. "Nah, s'good. My hair dries pretty quickly, anyways."

As I follow her through the halls, I realise that Manon's already up. We must have had the same idea to dress up nicely, because she wears a white flower-print dress that doesn't seem entirely like her style. Still, she looks nice. I greet her as I slide into the seat next to her.

"Sleep well?"

"Honestly?" she looks at me with one eyebrow raised as she reaches across the table to grab what must be a glass of orange juice. "No. I didn't."

"Yeah, me neither." I admit, staring at the window. Soon we'll be underground, heading under the mountains that block the Capitol off from the rest of the districts. I want to take in as much of the countryside as I can. Who knows what kind of arena we'll be chucked into?

"Nervous?" Kiln raises an eyebrow as he enters the room, his own hair wet and tousled from what I presume was a shower. He wears a casual shirt and trousers, but I can see the formal jacket in his hands. It seems we're all on the same wavelength as him. "Don't worry about it. They make it seem more impressive on TV."

I frown. "What do you mean?"

"I mean," he pauses, trying to find the right words to describe the experience. "The media likes to angle the chariot rides towards the type of story they want to tell that year. That's why sometimes the atmosphere on TV can be much more grimdark than it actually is."

"Oh." Manon nods her head, as if this makes sense - but it perplexes me. How would the Capitol know what story to tell if they didn't know who the victor was yet? It doesn't make sense at all. "Keep the viewers engaged and betting, I suppose."

Kiln nods. "Smart girl. Now, I don't want you to be nervous, but don't overlook this. Sponsors can mean everything in the arena, and this is one of the best places to attract them."

"Gotcha on that," I wink at him. "A plate of steaming hot charisma, coming right up."

"It better be," Kiln's voice is deadpan, but I catch a silver of amusement. "The more people like you, the more sponsor's you'll get. To that note, do what your stylists ask. It might seem ridiculous to you, but they have their job for a reason. They know what's in style, and what's not."

"Lemme guess, more trees?" I ask, raising an eyebrow slightly. Manon stifles a laugh. It's kind of a running joke in our district that we are nothing more than our trees - at least in the Capitol's eyes. Indeed, it's been a number of years since tributes from Seven have donned anything other than foliage.

"More trees indeed." Vera says, sliding into the room herself. "I don't fully agree that sponsors are life and death-" at that Kiln frowns a bit "- but it's definitely important. If you're sticking with your angles, you need to be smart about it."

"Don't act like you're allies."

"Huh?" Manon splutters, looking at Kiln with confusion. Vera doesn't seem surprised by the suggestion, however. They must have talked about this last night. I'm confused too, brows creased as I look at our mentors. Why would it matter if we acted like we were allies or not? After all, we'd be allying in the arena, that much is sure. They'd find out sooner or later. I pause for a moment, thinking it though. It must have something to do with the Capitol's perception of us. They'd see what they want to see, and what they want to see is what they expect. Past experiences make for future ones - schema and all that. Basic rule of psychology. So, if they want to see what they expect…

"Our strategies clash." The idea comes to me before either of our mentors can speak. "You're smart and subdued. I'm basically a Career 2.0, with less muscle. They wouldn't exactly expect us to be close, already. It could blow a hole in our plan, or they think we'd be faking it. Plus, if I'm going to - y'know, try to be a bit flirty - I don't think people would appreciate me allying with a female just yet."

"You're smarter than you give yourself credit for, Ellis," Vera nods. "Additionally, presenting you as a team is rather rebellious attitude. We don't want the Gamemakers having a vendetta against you before the Games start."

Manon looks unsure. "Then, what do I do on the chariots? I mean, obviously Ellis is going to be super cocky and all. But what about me?"

I pause. "Well, don't ignore them, but maybe be a bit more subdued about it. Y'know, sweet bashful girl next door?" Manon contemplates this.

"Maybe."

"Well!" I say. "I suppose the stylists will have tips on how to approach that too. For now, let's eat!"

—

I'm pulled straight into a whirl of people the second I arrive in the Capitol. It seems like everything seems to happen at twice the speed. First a hoard of screaming Capitolites greet us as we cross over the mountains, an array of bird-like people in a rainbow of colours, screaming and screeching in excitement. I spot a little girl who can't be more than ten bouncing up and down in absolute giddiness. She's practically angelic, and it's not just her curls of golden hair. No, she literally has angel wings surgically implanted into her back. I stare on in half awe, half horror at the people who we pass. They're holding signs up too, as if rooting for their favourites already. I see my own name scattered across the crowd. It's not much compared to other tributes, but I'm in there a lot more times than Manon is. A sign even reads 'MARRY ME, ELLIS'. I really don't know what to think about that.

We only get a brief glimpse of the city, however, as we're pulled straight underground into what's know as the 'Styling Centre'. Luckily, our train hasn't arrived at the same time as the other tributes, so we don't see anyone else as we step off the train and onto the smooth polished ground of the centre. It's circular, with leather sofas that adorn the sides, and a one-way glass mirror and an opening from underground, where the train drops us off. There are twenty-four different doors surrounding the circle, each leading to what I must presume are our prep teams.

Persephone takes a deep breath as she steps off the train, her high heels making a clacking noise against the stone floor. Here, she seems a lot more in her element, I notice. I don't think she really appreciates the nature back in Seven.

"Alright!" she claps her hands, whirling around to greet us. "Here, you say goodbye to Vera and Kiln, you'll meet them back at the Training Centre tonight. You'll be brought into the well-trained hands of your wonderful prep team, and then your stylists. You two will be split up, and at around four, we'll head down to the chariots. Your stylists will tell you the rest." She says this all very fast, and Manon and I look at each other in bewilderment. "Now, off you pop! The next train will be arriving in … ten minutes, and we don't want you to meet the others just yet!" Persephone trills, and just as she does, a group of people - or at least, I assume they're people, since Capitolites don't always look entirely human - rush in from one of the doors.

"Ellis Dogwood?" one of them asks. She's a woman with heels that make her nearly twice my height. She's got eyelashes that must be at least seven centimetres long, and which are bright blue. "Enchanted to meet you. My name is Venus, and I'll be the head of your prep team." Immediately, I try to make my eyes twinkle, and pull my mouth into a fake smirk.

"Oh, no. I'm just so enchanted to meet you, and to be here." The lady standing next to Venus lets out a slight giggle.

"Oh, he's just as charming as he was on the screen!" she says, pulling at the feathers in her hair.

"Well, we need to fix him up, first," the man is a lot more deadpan. He's got green hair and piercings all over his body. When you look at all three of them, they hardly look like they're the same species of - well - anything.

"Of course," I say, my voice nearing on falsetto. Nope, Ellis. Too much. "I can't wait to see what I'm going to be treated to!"

The feather-woman giggles again. "Oh my. I'm keeping this one."

I'm escorted away before I can even give Manon another look, though I'm pretty sure she's shocked at how easily I can put it on. My stylists pull at my arms, talking to the nines as they lead me down a hall and into a room that looks a lot more clinical than it does like a makeover room. The feather-woman, whose name I now know is Iris, sits me down, and the man - Lucius - takes measurements of my arms, legs, and everything in between.

"You're short, aren't you?" he notes, as he measures me from my head to my toes. I don't exactly know how tall I am, but I know it's very short. Still, I don't ask.

"I suppose," I say. And then: "But great things can come in small packages." It's sickeningly cheesy, but they eat it right up.

We make idle chatter as they rush around me like a hurricane of brightly-coloured people, them gathering items and clothes. And then.

"Now, take off your clothes."

I blink. "Eh?"

"Yes, take off your clothes. We need to scrub you down."

For a moment, I feel like refusing completely. Why should I take my clothes off? I don't want them to see me, or anything! I've always been an extremely private person, especially when it comes to things like this. People like Llea can be extremely open, but I'm not like that. As many sexual innuendos as I make, I'm not interested in sex at all. Romance is a completely different story - well, not like I'll ever have a chance at anything romantic anymore, considering the Games are a thing that are happening - but most people can't have anything romantic without anything sexual. Maybe I'm just different. Oh god, I hope my angle doesn't backfire on me. I do not want to wear anything sexual. Still, I know that resistance would just be breaking the image I've created, so I comply. Surprisingly, or perhaps not so much so, none of them bat even an , I'm not sure Venus can actually blink. I don't know how she keeps her eyes open like that.

I'm dumped into a bath with scalding hot water, and about every inch of my body is scrubbed down in some sort of soap which smells of pine. Well, false pine. I know exactly what pine smells like, and it's not the smell of the soap. Then, I pulled out and put into a sort of dressing gown. Attention turns to my hair. "It's a bit long," Venus notes, pulling a strand up.

"We could cut it."

"No!" Lucius completely freaks at the idea, slapping her hand away. "We keep the hair as it is. Roma calls it 'iconic'."

Roma, my stylist. The prep team's been taking about them non-stop since I've arrived, and they seem to almost be in awe of the person, whoever they are. Still, I'm glad they agreed to keep my hair the way it is. Everyone's been complaining about it - but it's one of the only parts of me (sans my eyes) that I actually like.

Instead, attention turns to my face. They dust me in a sort of powder that makes me look tanner than I actually am, and annunciate the freckles that are sprinkled across my nose and face. Apparently, those are 'desirable' and 'in', right now. My lips are coated in colour - it's not exactly comfortable, and my eyes dusted.

"You have very thick eyebrows," Iris notes, as she dusts the corner of my jaw. "They must be very expressive."

I waggle them at her, causing her to burst into another peal of laughter. "Why, of course they are. They have a mind of their own."

After what seems like an eternity, the prep team shuffles away, and I'm left waiting in the empty room, feeling raw and exposed and altogether very uncomfortable. For the first time, I realise that I am, in fact, in the same building as all of the other tributes. My mind zooms through the list. Who do I trust? Who don't I? Before I can freak myself out any more, however, a person steps into the room.

It's impossible to tell what gender they are, they have close-cropped hair in a brilliant violet and delicate features. They have their eyes and lips heavily made up, but the rest of their face is seemingly devoid of any makeup, and they wear a tailored suit with a coat tail.

"Ellis," they say, holding out a manicured hand. "My name is Roma, and I'm your stylist."

I pull the fake-grin again. "Lovely to meet you!"

They look rather disinterested as they shake my hand. "Likewise. Follow me."

Unsure of what else to do, I follow Roma up a flight of stairs. The hand rail is adorned with marble carvings and statues of things I don't recognise. Daemons, perhaps? It takes a while until we reach the top, where a small, rectangular room sits. It has the same one-way glass, and overlooks the city. Everywhere I look, neon lights shine, almost blinding me. I can see a fake forest across the skyscrapers, except the trees are pink and the grass nearing on blue. Oh, well. So much for thinking of home.

"Ellis," Roma repeats my name as they sit themselves down across from me on an orange sofa. I follow them, my body almost disappearing under the cushion. It's overly comfortable, I think. It seems like so much of this is just for show, and I can't image how anyone could live like this.

"Tell me about yourself?" I'm a bit taken aback by the question, but I try my best charming smile and talk. "Well, there's not much to know. I like reading, and nature. But mostly, I like to make people laugh."

Roma nods, still slightly detached and pulls out their notes. Then, they cut straight to the chase.

"I've never styled a victor before." Now this question strikes me.

"I'm sorry?" "I said, I've never styled a victor before. All of my tributes have been blithering, sobbing messes." they wave their hand, as if disrespecting the dead is something they do every other Friday. "You're different."

Trying to put aside my disgust, I lean in. "How so?"

"Well," they give me a look like this is obvious. "You have some charisma. You've got the prep team wrapped around your finger. More people like you than any of my other tributes so far."

"Go on?" I can't keep the wavering disgust out of my tone, no matter how hard I try. Give me the vapid prep team over Roma any day.

"I want a tribute that's special. Iconic. I want to be remembered. I want you to be remembered."

Of course. Roma's in it for the fame, the hope to be bunged up to a better district. It makes a lot more sense now, the detached persona and everything. "Well, I'm sure I can do that." It's really hard to keep the smile on my face.

"Now, you're not the most attractive tribute by far. I've had better," For some reason, this really insults me. I've always known I'm not conventionally good looking. I'm short and I look about two years younger than I actually am. I put zero effort into my appearance at all, and it shows. But for some reason, when Roma says it, I feel mad. "But the prep team's cleaned you up alright. With my help, you should be fine."

I wonder where they're going with this?

"And so, I want to make a deal with you." Here it is.

"What deal?"

"You act like the most memorable tribute ever, and I'll put a little more effort into making you the most memorable. What do you say?" For a moment, I want to say no. I want to just stand up and say 'fuck off' and storm out into the chariots wearing nothing but this bloody dressing gown. But I know that I can't do that. If I want to get sponsors, I have to agree with Roma.

"I say, alright."


	6. Chapter 6

At the very least, I make an attractive tree.

I'm glad Roma kept up their side of the bargain. No matter how much I dislike them as a person, there's no denying that they're at the very least good at what they do. To the Capitol audience, the outfit isn't exactly much. I'm dressed in a brown tunic and slightly darker pants, with dark, glossy boots. My arms and parts of my face are painted a slight green, suggesting foliage, and false vines creep up my arms and legs. On top of my hair - which remains mercifully unchanged - lies a wreath of leaves, intertwined with golden foil.

It's not the outfit itself that does me any good. It's the subtle changes. The way that there's some sort of padding in the tunic, making my shoulders look broader than they actually are. The boots give me the altitude I can't achieve on my own, and when I look at myself in the mirror, it's the better, stronger version of me. The version of me that, if I pull it off well enough, could even look like a competitor. I haven't been made spectacularly attractive, though I have definitely been improved, physically. Which, in all essence, sends a clear message.

You can do the rest yourself.

I come to that conclusion pretty quickly, as I spot Kiln making his way down the hall to me. I suppose he's checking out that everything is okay, just as Vera should be doing to Manon. Once we get the OK, he'll leave me and Manon to the mercy of the chariots. His face contorts not into a look of pleasure, nor of disappointment, but one of surprise, and then determination. As he makes his way up to me, I feel suddenly self-conscious about the outfit I'm wearing. Next to all of the Capitolites, I might have felt weird in the outfit, but I didn't feel out-of-place. In fact, what I'm wearing could even be considered 'drab' in comparison to their outfits. However, next to Kiln, who wears only a semi-formal shirt and jeans, I feel like I shouldn't even be in the same room as him.

"Keeping the glasses," he notes once he's taken a good look at me. "It's a good choice."

I squirm under his gaze - I'm not used to being looked at as if I'm a mannequin - and yank them off, fiddling with the dark rims. I can't see him as well now, but I'm nowhere near blind, only longsighted. I've had these glasses since I was fourteen, and it cost us a fortune, but I definitely need them in the forest. And the games.  
"Are you sure?" I'm rather confused, considering that I had thought the complete opposite. I haven't seen any other 'four-eyes' since I've entered the Capitol, so it mustn't be the style.

Kiln nods. "It'll make you recognisable. The outfit isn't much, though."

"I'm taller."

"That you are," he pauses once again, observing me. "You got along with Roma?" Based on his tone, the question is obviously sarcastic.

"Is that even a question," I groan. "At least they're willing to give me a shot if I make them more famous."

"Is that a guarantee, though?" Kiln looks nervous at the thought of a bet. "You'd better do good in training and the rides, because Rome is the type to keep grudges. You might want to be worried about your interview outfit."

I gulp. Shit. I hadn't thought of it like that.

Seeing my presumably petrified expression, Kiln laughs and shakes his head slightly.  
"You'll be fine. I have faith in your acting. Why else would I choose you?"

"Why did you choose me?" I let the words fall out before I mean them to. It's something I've been wondering on and off since yesterday - because Kiln doesn't seem to be jumping at the idea that I will be able to get far at all, in stead banking on 'what-ifs'.

His face looks surprised for a moment. And then, to my very own surprise, he smiles.

"You remind me of Natto."

Natto. The name rings a bell, but it takes me a while to connect the dots as to who this person is. It clicks after a little while. Natto Paek, the tribute who scored 7th place in Kiln's own games. They had allied from the start, along with another boy, and had been together for about three weeks before they were split up and the other two were killed.

"Natto Paek?" I ask. "But he died."

A funny look flashes across Kiln's face, and I immediately regret bringing up his death. It seems his mind is replaying the image of whatever happened to the boy, and his eyes seem to flicker with the memories, like a piece of old film. His voice is low when he speaks again.

"He would have won," Kiln's tone is a strange mixture on melancholy and determination. "He was like you. Knew how to get the sponsors on his side. Smart. Funny. What happened to him was the epitome of bad luck."

"Kiln-"

"He was supposed to win. And he didn't. But you will. I'll make sure of it."

My voice catches at his determination. Here is this man who didn't know that I existed up until a day ago, and yet has faith in me that I don't even have in myself.

"T-thanks Kiln," I don't really know what to say. "I'm sorry about your friend."

"Me too." he sighs. "He would've liked you. Would've said you were his protege."

That does kind of sound like me.

Looks like I've got another person to win for, then.

My heart feels like a war drum in my chest as I make my way down to the stables. Between Manon and I, the air seems to buzz with an electrical anxiety. Manon hardly speaks to me as we near the bottom, the lights flashing on the elevator screen as we descend lower and lower down. She's dressed similarly to me, but her hair is done immaculately, her makeup to perfection. She looks almost like a dryad in her costume, someone with unknowable wisdom and knowledge. I look like an asshole in a spunky getup.

Just before the door opens, however, she grips my hand.

"Before we go," she takes a deep breath, and I can really tell the extent of how nervous she is. "I just wanted to say, good luck. And to keep your eye out for allies. And to not let them get to you, because they're all just kids like us anyways. But to not be too obvious. And-"

"Manon," I squeeze her hand, just like she did to me at the reaping. "Chill. Breathe. It's just a case of 'sit still look pretty', remember? We don't need to pay attention to the others at all."

"I hate crowds." she says, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Then pretend they're all cheering at me, then, and you're invisible."

"Ellis!" she shoves me slightly. "Stop being an idiot!"

"Stop being an idiot? You drive a hard bargain, madam."

Manon pauses, as if deliberating whether or not to say something. "How are you so lighthearted all of the time, Ellis?"

I don't think I am. I mean, 90% of the time I'm faking it, Manon. And the other 10% of the time, it's just because I'm so deep into it that I've fooled myself.

"Because it's the only way I can survive."

The doors slide open just as I utter the words, so I can't hear Manon's retaliation. Our hands snap away - we're supposed to not be seen as allies at all - and I can hear her take a deep breath in.

We're not late, but judging by the number of tributes already milling around, we're not exactly early, either. It seems that more or less three-quarter of all the tributes have already arrived at the stables. Eyes dart towards us as the elevator slides open, and the first person I see is the girl from Six, who darts backwards as she catches a glimpse of the door opening. Edwina something-or-another, I think. She's dressed in a pretty strange outfit - like a human train, complete with bright headlights over her dark hair, which as been pulled back into an elegant bun with pins and (presumably) a lot of hairspray. The juxtaposition of the two - odd and refined - is quite strange, and it's obvious that she's uncomfortable with the outfit, or the way I'm staring at her.

"Sorry," I say, trying to keep my voice bright as I slip past her. I've got to keep my upbeat persona even here, because if I appear even a little uncertain, people will know it's a ploy. It's happened before that other tributes have found out acting strategies and exposed them in the interviews, to better their own chances at winning. I can't afford that at all.

Edwina doesn't say anything, only turning back to her district parter - Gilles, I think? He's dressed in the same outfit, but his discomfort is more obvious. He's definitely not close with Edwina, however, because he doesn't give her any sort of comforting look, only distant. It's obvious he doesn't trust her - or anyone - in the slightest.

Probably a good mindset to have, but I can't manage that.

Manon and I make our way to our carriage, which is being pulled by a pair of chestnut horses. I've never seen horses in person before, considering they're not exactly the District animal. For a moment I'm a bit unnerved - if they're from the Capitol, they must be mutts, right? - but they don't seem to be harmful in the slightest, only slightly impatient. As I climb up onto the horse, I can see the Career alliance grouped up at the front. Yeah, there's Lustra up front engaged in a deep conversation with Hera. The pair from Four are a little while away, and the boys from One and Two are also making conversation which I can't hear.

The separated conversation doesn't last long, however, as Lustra saunters - you can't describe her walk as purely walking, because she walks with too much purpose, 'sauntered' would be the only word you could use - anyways, as Lustra saunters up to the other four, Hera at her tail with a smirk on her face. The pair from One are dressed up like angels, with halos and wings - though I'm not sure how 'angels' and 'luxury items' are synonymous. The pair from Two are a pair of glorified peacekeepers, and I'm not sure what the two from Four are supposed to be. They seem to be some sort of half-human half-fish hybrids, with seashells and nets in their hair. Hera talks avidly - obviously she's eager to be here - before gesturing towards someone behind her.

Someone - oh. Me. Porter from Two frowns at me, as if I'm some sort of bug he can squash. There's something else, however. Some sort of irritation, as if I'm not supposed to act like I am. The girl from Four, whose name I still don't know, says something, and Porter agrees. They're staring daggers at me now, and it's obvious that they know that I know that they're looking at me.

I don't know why I do it, but I wave.

"Stupid," Manon murmurs under her breath as I take in their surprised - and annoyed - glances. Fortunately, Lustra rolls her eyes and directs them somewhere else. I catch a snatch of conversation; perhaps she's said 'not worth our time', or something.

Works for me.

"Speak for yourself," I say a moment later to Manon, trying to be as discreet as possible. She's caught the eye of the girl from Three, whose uncomfortably caught between the Career districts. For a volunteer, she hasn't been approached, and it's easy to see why. She's rail thin, and though she's attractive enough, a burn marks the side of her face. It goes just behind her eye down from her hairline all the way to halfway down her neck, and tough it's been covered by makeup, it's still noticeable. She hasn't had it long at all, I can tell. It's because of the way her fingers hover absently over the skin, as if to make sure it's still there, and how it hurts her to look around or move that side of her face. Odds are, that's part of why she volunteered. "You've found an ally?"

"She looked at me," Manon sounds indignant, but still smiles at the girl - whose name escapes me. "Who's to say I'm not allowed to look, huh? She's much less scary than your Career friends."

"Career friends," the idea amuses me. "Just, be careful with her, okay?"

"Yes, mother." I'm glad to see she's feeling better.

It doesn't take long for everyone to arrive, and after that it's only a matter of waiting for our chariot to roll out. Lustra and Eiffel are greeted to a hoard of screeching cheers as their horses start moving, all on their own. The sound is deafening, all feet stomping and incoherent yelling, and I almost want to plug my fingers into my ears. Then the next two are off, and the next. By the time District Six has departed, I think I'll be permanently deaf, and my heart is about to fly right out of my body.

And then we start moving. My stomach jerks with vertigo, and I can feel my breakfast sloshing around. Jeez, I shouldn't have eaten that much. Then we cross the line between underground and above ground, and the halo of light nearly blinds me. I squint slightly, trying to see beyond the flare of my glasses. It takes a moment. And then-

The people. Oh my god, the people. This must be the entire population of every single District in Panem tripled, all crowded into a single city. The entire Capitol population must be here, and if I squint, it almost looks like a sea of squirming, brightly coloured blobs. Their shrieks seem to get louder as we pull out, if that's even possible, and I can hear my name from all sides.

"Ellis!" "Ellis!" "Dogwood, over here!" "HEY, PRETTY BOY!" "You're so cool, Ellis!"

It's almost like a dream, and I feel like everything is a blur. In fact, the screams are sending my instincts into overdrive, and all I would like to do is hide under the chariot and cower, but I know I can't. Instead, I pull on my best winning smile, and pray that it doesn't waver. I hold up both my hands and wave as furiously as I can. The cheering gets louder.

"Over here, Ellis!" "Oh, look at me!"

It's so strange to think that they want me to die, because right now it sounds like they're my biggest fans. I've always wondered how they're so desensitised to this, because their moral code must be so different to ours. In any other situation, I'd love to study it.

"Ellis, I LOVE your hair!" someone calls, barely audible above the screaming of the crowd. I whirl in the direction of the speaker.

"Thank you! I do too!" I'm not expected to be heard over the crowd, but our voices must somehow be magnified, because I hear my voice loud and clear. It's a hurricane of voices that follows.

"He heard me! He actually talked to me! Oh my god!"

This is so weird.

The whirl of people and yelling continues for a good forty minutes, before we turn back into the building, the sound disappearing into the distance. Above us, twilight creeps into the sky, bringing with it the warm glow of the setting sun. As we pull in, the canopy of stone surrounding us, Manon breathes a sigh of relief.

"Thank god that's over," I wipe my brow. I'm sweating, though I'm not sure if it's because of the amount of people, or the nerves, or both. "I think I'm permanently deaf."

"I'm shaking," she sounds about as overwhelmed as I feel. And then, surprisingly, she snorts. "You were such an asshole out there!"

"They liked it." I shrug.

Manon nods, looking behind us at the other tributes who are closing in. Most, like us, look overwhelmed, and others seem to have almost shut down.

"That, they did."

We're escorted to our new temporary home, a skyscraper that towers over all of the other buildings. We're in floors located above the training centre, each district getting a floor of their own. I don't know what we could get that takes up an entire floor, and I'm not exactly happy that the Capitol is giving us this, but I can't deny that I'm excited to see what's there. Unfortunately, the elevator - between Manon, Vera, Kiln, Persephone and I - is too full to take us there all at once. I volunteer to wait, I'll be fine alone for a minute. Manon smiles, and then they're rocketed up into the sky.

Except I'm not alone for very long. Not even a second passes before someone joins me. The boy from Five. I'd missed him in the chaos of the chariot rides, but he looks very - striking - in his lightning bolt costume. I nearly laugh at the sight of it, given it's ridiculousness. It's not even like you can actually harvest lightning for energy - even someone as bad at science as I am knows that it's not possible yet. Still, I can't help but notice that he's very good looking, especially with the makeup. Up close, his eyes are a brilliant amber that seem to glow, and he's got nice hair. Much nicer than mine - even if he's going for a vampire-widow's-peak kind of look. He looks kind of haughty, with his sharp nose and half closed lids - but not in a bad way.

Oops, he's caught me staring.

"Sorry," I duck my head. Devon - that's his name - could very easily be a deadly enemy. Unlike me, his muscle isn't fake, he looks decently strong. Must be a factory worker. And he's probably smart, too. The elevator door opens.

Devon and I step into it, and I look at him blankly.

"Uh, which floor?"

He looks at me like I'm an idiot, his eyebrows creased in a mixture of annoyance and confusion.

"Five. Obviously." his voice isn't low, but it sounds quite bored and monotone.

"R-right. Sorry."

As the elevator starts to move, I mentally curse myself. What's gotten into you, Ellis? You have an angle, don't you? So, why are you acting like a thirteen-year-old girl around this guy? You're completely screwing yourself up.

It takes a little less than a second for the elevator to whip us up, and the door slides open on the fifth floor - Devon's floor.

I don't expect him to say anything, and he nearly doesn't, as he steps out of the elevator in a smart, clean motion. In fact, I don't think even he expects himself to speak, based on the surprise that flashes in his eyes as he opens your mouth.

"You're smart, you know that. Your strategy. You want to survive? Keep to it."

And then the door closes.

I'm a little dumbfounded, if I'm honest. Was the act that obvious? No. I don't think so. I fooled the Careers, and by the way Edwina looked at me, she believed the same. So why, or how did Devon know?

He's proved he's smart already. That could make a valuable ally. But, at the same time, he could easily stab me in the back - and I don't think he's have any qualms. He obviously doesn't care about me, based on the way he looked at me. But I feel like he doesn't hate me either. Otherwise he wouldn't have talked to me.

This could be dangerous.

Yeah. I need to watch myself around that boy.


	7. Chapter 7

"Okay, game plan." I lean in to face Manon directly. She sits across from me on the velvet sofas that lie next to the complete glass window overlooking the Capitol. Outside the sun has only just risen in the sky, the light reflecting off the silver-tiled roofs of the buildings that soar into the sky around us. The atmosphere is hardly as blue as it should be - the sky being polluted by the amount of waste produced by Capitolites, so that it appears more of a wash-out grey than anything. Clouds dot the horizon, floating lazily, and there's nothing more I'd like than to step into the fresh, albeit strange-smelling, air.

"What are we doing?"

"What do you mean?" Manon leans in similarly, perching her arms on the edge of the chair, as if to stop her from falling off. We're dressed in training clothes, picked out for a us by Vera and Kiln. We're not exactly matching, but we have to wear the same colour as each to make our district clear, if it wasn't so already. Not surprisingly, Seven gets a dark green colour. Her shirt is more of a tank top, short sleeved, and she wears dark shorts and trainers - showing off her lean, toned body. I'm quite the opposite, with a long-sleeved shirt and sports trousers that go down to my knees. Unlike Manon, who would probably look stronger than the other girls, I don't want to give myself a weak edge.

"I mean," I pause, about to look for our mentors, only to remember they left to meet with the other trainers about half an hour ago. "Where are we going to go? Is there anyone you want to approach - y'know, stuff like that."

"Oh," Manon's face contorts into a look of confusion. "So, we are staying together after all?"

"Huh?" I shouldn't be surprised. Allies can be a benefit, but they can also be a problem. Still, I can't help but feel a little bit hurt. I had thought that the pact we'd made on the first day entailed alliance, but maybe Manon took it a little differently.

It takes me a moment to realise the problem with this. The fact that I'm hurt means something - something bad. It means that I've started to care for Manon.

"Wait!" Manon must have seen the look on my face, because her voice gets at once high and louder. "I don't mean not being allies! I mean sticking together in training."

"Right." I mentally face palm. However the doubt still remains lingering in my gut, even if it was put there by mis-interpreted words. "We were told not to act like allies, weren't we?"

"Well," she starts, and her eyes go distant, as if she's thinking. When Manon thinks - I realise - she very often seems foggy, as if she's not all here. "We kind of messed that up yesterday, thinking back."

"You reckon?" I go back myself, trying to remember a specific moment in the mix of all the chaos of the previous day. "Oh yeah. Didn't those careers spot us?"

"And when we got off the chariots, we weren't exactly masking our relief to each other, were we?"

I think of a way to try to fix our mistake. "Granted, I suppose that plenty of people will be allying, right? I mean, it makes sense of district parters to ally. And I'm pretty sure that Vera and Kiln meant us to keep it a secret from the Capitol until the games start. So we should be in the good?"

Manon doesn't look sure, but she bites her lip and sighs. "I guess?"

"Good!" I cough and sit up a bit straighter in my chair. "So, what is our game plan?"

"Hm." She pauses, running her hand through her hair. It messes up the loose bun she's tied it into, causing strands to come loose and blow into her eyes. She brushes them behind her ear and continues deliberating. "Well, we both know how to use axes."

"We're adequate." I agree. Everyone in Seven knows how to swing an axe, it's basically law back there. It's been an asset of ours for many years in the Games, and why we can often make it quite far - even if we don't win very often. But, there's still no guarantee that there will be axes in the arena this year. "But I don't think we should venture near them. I thought we were going to stay away from any sort of Career attention."

"You did that super well last night." Manon deadpans, but I can tell she's also joking from the way her eyes twinkle slightly. "Want to save them for private training?"

Oh god. Private Training. That's a whole other ordeal I haven't even had the time to consider. The idea of preforming solo in front of the Gamemakers probably daunts me even more that training in a room with all of the other tributes - even if I'm going to be looked at the way lions look at a piece of fresh meat. If I mess up in any way, or get a low training score, the sponsors are going to ditch me as fast as I can blink. Nobody in the right mind would sponsor who can't defend themselves in the arena, no matter how much you would like them. Charisma is only part of the way there.

"Maybe," I say, though I'm uncertain. "We should probably try to learn as much as we can about other things. Like survival skills in other terrains, how to wield a knife, stuff like that."

Manon nods, agreeing with me. "That would probably be our best bet."

My eyes drift to the clock that hangs over our head. It's a flawed design, despite it's aesthetics, because there aren't actually any numbers, only dark hands hovering over a white circle. From what I can tell, it's about quarter past ten. Which means it's fifteen minutes until training starts.

"And allies?" I ask, my mind wandering to the place I didn't really want to bring up with Manon. I already know what she wants, and I don't agree.

"Well, I think we should try to see if there's someone from a district that drastically different to ours. Y'know. Get a different perspective and all. If they're trustworthy, I mean."

"You want to ally with the girl from Three, don't you?" I raise my eyebrows at Manon. It's pretty obvious she's trying to be inconspicuous about it, but I'm not really buying it.

"I'm not saying that…" Manon starts, but meeting my gaze, she gives in. "Fine. I just think she could be a valuable ally, is all."

"She volunteered, Manon. Do you really think she can be trusted?" I don't mean to sound harsh, but I'm afraid that the words come out as such. Fortunately, Manon doesn't seem to be insulted, only her eyes drop to the floor for a split second.

"I didn't say she could be trusted. At least not yet. I just wanna see, is all."

I stay silent, deliberating it. There's something with the girl that tells me that she could be just another tribute, like us. But there's also an edge to her.

"Well, your decision with the boy from five isn't much better."

I look up. "Who said I wanted to ally with him?"

"Nobody." Manon shrugs. "You were just looking at him very intensely last night in the re-runs."

Was I? I try to think back. Oh, that's right. I had been trying to gauge Devon's angle last night - because he seemed quite stony, but there was definitely something underlying that which I was finding difficult to read.

"He said something funny in the elevators last night." I admit. "I was just trying to get a gauge on him."

"Oh? What did he say?"

"Nothing." I shrug. For some reason, I don't really want to tell Manon. "It was nothing."

She doesn't fully believe me, I don't think, but she shrugs. "Okay. Wanna head down?"

I nod. "Let's do this."

Training arrives in a flash of intimidation and confused gazes. We stand in a semi-circle next to each other, surrounding a tall woman who introduces herself as the head trainer. Up close, the careers look even more intimidating than before, without their makeup and costume they look even more muscular and daunting. The girl from Four catches my eye for the first time, as she's standing right across from me. She's tall, and though not extremely muscular, especially compared to the other two Career girls, she definitely has an advantage over most of the other tributes. Her hair is cut short, and she has a smattering of freckles. However, what strikes me is the fact that she's waving. At me?

"Don't respond." Manon says, sideways glancing at the group. The girl - Summer, that's her name - must have some ulterior motive, so I decide to agree with Manon and look away. Most of the other tributes as looking towards the trainer lady, but I catch Devon's eyes blaring into the back of my neck. I avoid him too.

The woman goes on to explain the rules. There are about three obligatory courses, speed, a simulator for the Games themselves, and some memory test - so we'll have to do at least one of those over the next three days. We're forbidden from hurting any other tribute - I knew that - and severely hurting trainers, though light sparring is fine. We're not allowed to leave the training the centre until the day ends at around 3pm, though we'll have two breaks during the day. The woman goes on, giving us tips on what we should do, and arena statistics. After a few minutes we break apart.

Most of the tributes stand lamely by themselves, not knowing where to even begin. The Careers, of course, head straight up to the weapons with irritating confidence. The boy from One, Eiffel, seems to give the rest of us a shark-toothed grin as he reaches for a spear on one of the silver tables on the left side of the training centre. Averting his gaze, I grab Manon by the arm and pull her all the way over to the other side of the hall.

"What are you doing?" she hisses as I march across the room, eyes scanning the different sections. We have no need for fire starting, Manon and I have just as much experience with that as we do with climbing trees - which is a lot - so I pull her to the station next door. Plant identification.

"You don't want to look weak, do you?" I ask, keeping my voice low, so we're not heard.

"No?" she pulls free, obviously confused. "What do you mean?"

"Eiffel." I jerk my head across the hall to where he's standing. "He was looking at us like we were food. He's obviously weeding out the weak ones. You want to look decisive. You move."

She nods. "You want to start here, then?"

"Good enough a place as any."

The trainer's eyes light as we enter the station, which is a large elevated metal circle with numerous books and plants in different jars. Talking at half the speed of light, she immediately swoops us into a flash of information, detailing everything from common mushrooms that we can eat to trees that secrete sap so toxic that even inhaling the fumes directly could kill you. It's as we walk around that I realise how little I actually know, and I end up trying to repeat everything I'm being told like a mantra in my head.

"You two are from Seven, right?" the trainer asks, eyeing the colour of our shirts and the badges that are pinned to the front of our shirts. We nod. "Well, you might have heard of this tree before."

She points at a page in one of the books that lies open on one of the numerous metallic counters. The pages of the book are funny, smooth, almost like they're made of cold stone. The image is of something that looks like a weeping willow, drawn in delicate ink. However, I can tell from the colour that that is not a weeping willow. I know exactly what that is.

"Carnivores." Manon says it before I do, her eyes wide. I've only heard of these trees before, I've never seen one in real life. Of course. The last one was cut down ages before I was born. They used to litter the wildlands in the Dark Days. Disguised as normal willows, they promised shelter to whoever found them. People would climb up on their branches, only to realise that they weren't branches at all, but tendrils. And that opening in the tree wasn't actually an opening at all. It was a mouth.

You can guess what happens from there.

"Exactly." The trainer speaks as if this is the most important thing possible. "In the history of all games, I've never seen one of these being used before. I bet my bottom dollar it'll come up in yours. So watch out."

Manon and I exchange anxious glances.

"Well…" I pause, giving a nervous laugh. "As long as we avoid them, we'll be good. Right?"

"Right."

A little more nervous than before, Manon and I leave the section. I pull a face at here as we do, scanning the hall.

"Let's go somewhere a little less 'doomsday-foreshadowing', shall we?" I ask. Manon chuckles and agrees, following my gaze around the room. However, her eyes stop at the shelter building area. There, sitting on the floor and trying her best to pile up heavy branches in order to get them to stand as a shelter, is the girl from three. Eden.

I breathe in a deep sigh. "Okay, Manon. You win. Let's go talk to her."

Obviously happy to have won over my willingness, Manon smiles and grabs my arm.

"You'll see. She probably won't be bad at all."

"Okay."

However, we're not even halfway to the station before a there's a tap on the back of my shoulders. I whirl around, slightly startled and obviously not expecting it, only to be greeted by a pair of green and hazel eyes.

The girl from Four, Summer, and the boy from One, Eiffel have come to talk to me?

Manon eyes them with just as as much surprise as I'm feeling, and I have a feeling she's just going to drag me away, but I'm curious as to what they have to say. I give her a sideways glance telling her to go on without me, and eventually she does just that, giving in and walking away.

"You've displayed quite a lot of bravado, kiddo," Eiffel notes, once Manon's walking away. His voice is drenched with condescension, and the look he's giving me is one akin to the way you'd look at a lamb ready for slaughter.

"So what I have?" I try not to sound defensive, instead trying to keep up with the half-joking charisma I've been presenting the Capitol.

"Ooh, I like this one!" Summer says, her mouth still stretched into a wide grin. Her voice is high with enthusiasm, and I'm surprised that such an attitude is coming from a Career tribute. "He's got sass."

"Well, he better not be trying to sass us out."

"I'm not." I hold out my hands, as if to assure him, though it's more to protect myself. Even though I know he can't hurt me, his words sound like a direct threat. "Just trying to defend myself. Who says a kid from an outer district can't have bravado?"

"Nobody." Eiffel says, though I can tell he's internally rolling his eyes. "Gotta say, you surprised me at the reapings. Somebody could think you have some tricks up your sleeve. The Capitol likes that."

I try to give a cocky shrug. "Can't say I'm surprised."

"Well, then how about you show us what's up your sleeve?" He asks. He makes it sound friendly, like an offer, but I know it's an intimidation tactic. "If you're any good, you might as well join us."

He knows I'm no good. This is just his way of telling me that none of them are buying it, isn't it?

Well, maybe this is something good. If he thinks I'm not worth it, he'll leave me alone, right? It's not like he's going to see me as a direct threat anymore.

"I'd like to keep what's metaphorically up my sleeve a mystery, thanks." I say, as cooly as I can.

"And he's enigmatic." Summer says, leaning in so her face is only inches from mine. "Lil' Ellis is turning out to be a fun guy."

I yank away. "Sure I am."

Eiffel smiles knowingly, flashing his sharp teeth again. "Well, my offer still stands, fun guy. You know where to find us."

And then they're gone.

My heart racing at about a million miles per hour, I stand there for a second, dumbstruck. Did I fuck it up? I look around, praying nobody noticed. Thankfully, it seems I'm in luck, because everyone else seems to be engrossed in their own tasks. That is, expect for someone else.

Devon. Just my luck. He's eyeing me curiously, as if observing some sort of animal in the zoo. His eyes are cool and calm, and almost calculating. However, just as my eyes meet his, he looks away.

What's up with him?

Brushing the idea from my mind, I get moving, jogging to the other side of the centre to Manon and Eden, who are conversing about something. I wipe my sweaty palms on my trousers, and attempt to act as calm as possible as I approach them.

"Hiya Manon. Eden." I turn to her. "I'm Ellis Dogwood. Nice to meet you."

Eden pauses for a second, as if deliberating, and then shakes my hand. Her grip is firmer than I expected, and her look is at once determined.

"Eden Dione." She replies. "Nice to meet you."

Manon turns to me. "What did they want from you?"

"They asked me to show them 'what I've got'."

"What?" Manon hisses. "Oh god, Ellis, I told you to lay low. What now?"

"Relax." I wave a hand. "It was just a-"

"Scare tactic?" Eden finished my sentence. "I figured."

"Yeah." I eye her curiously. "How'd you know?"

"Just the way they were looking at you. I've seen it before." she says, her grey eyes levelling with mine. There's an element of determination in them that both makes me slightly afraid of her, but also makes me quite like her.

"Well!" I clap my hand. "Girls, how about you teach me how to build some shelter. Y'know what they say."

"Teaching is the best way to learn?" Manon raises an eyebrow. "Stop stealing my lines, Dogwood."

I laugh, and we get to work. Both Manon and Eden seem to be quite good teachers, and I've soon learnt how to build a basic shelter that should keep me from the wind and cold. After we've finished up this station, we move onto the next one, and the next. Knife throwing. Rope tying. Traps and snares. By the time the day has ended, I'm practically exhausted.

The three of us saunter up to the elevator. Manon and Eden seem to be getting along very well, and though I'm playing my usual act - a-la village idiot - I can't help but feel a little uncertain. Eden hasn't mentioned anything as to why she's volunteered once.

"So, Eden." I ask as we head upwards. "What assets do you have?"

She takes a moment to deliberate this. "Well, I know how technology and stuff works, so that's an asset depending on which arena we're in. I'm fast. And, well, I read a lot. That counts for something, doesn't it?"

Usually I'd jump right into the fact that she reads with enthusiasm, but I still feel uncertain. I stay quiet, as if deliberating this. Instead, Manon speaks.

"That's great! We have no idea about anything technology-like, so that'll really help!"

We eventually bid farewell, and then it's Manon and I left in the elevator. I speak immediately.

"Do you trust her?"

"Huh? Well, yes? No? I've just met her."

"Well, do you trust me?"

"Yes."

"Good." I pause. "Then why don't we split up tomorrow?"

"What?" she splutters. "Why?"

I raise my shoulders into a shrug. "I want to make sure you trust her without me. For you to be one hundred percent sure, I mean."

"You think I'm only feeling safe because you're there?"

"It's a possibility." Manon still looks uncertain, so I lean it. "Look, if I die in the bloodbath-"

"Don't."

"It's a possibility, Manon. If I die in the bloodbath, you have to be sure you trust her when it's just the two of you. I don't want her stabbing you in the back. Because if I don't win, I want you to."

There is a long silence.

And then.

"Yeah. Me too."

"So, you'll do it?"

"Yeah, Ellis. I'll do it."


	8. Chapter 8

Chapter Eight - Premonitions

"You're sure that you want to do this?"

Manon's voice is lower than usual, and her eyes are creased with concern. We're standing in the elevator, basking in the last few moments of solitude that we'll get before we're thrown back into a whirl of training and tributes. She stands across from me in an uniform identical to the one she wore yesterday, down to the small seven pinned to her breast, with her arms crossed and her expression worried.

"Yeah!" I say, struggling to keep my voice upbeat. The truth is that ever since those Careers approached me yesterday, I've been jittery. I can't help but suspect ulterior motives in them, and their actions. Who's to say they weren't sending me a direct threat? And if they've got ulterior motives, who's to say Eden doesn't?

Still, I can tell that if I lost morale, Manon would just fall even deeper into a pit than I would. For someone so strong, she's also awfully fragile. I wouldn't want to see her break so soon.

"Are you really sure?" She repeats. "Look, I'm sure there's no harm in joining Eden and I. She's probably trustworthy, and once you come alone with us, you'll see that."

"The fault is in your use of 'probably', Manon," I retaliate. "She can't just be probably trustworthy. She needs to be. And I need to be sure that you trust her, because if I'm not there to protect you, then you need to be surrounded by someone who you trust just as much."

"And what if it's me who dies, huh?" Manon's voice is awfully steady. She seems intent on this. "Who's to say you won't need somebody else? What if you're left all alone. Because I don't want to see you die alone, Ellis. Why don't you need to trust her."

I don't trust many people, Manon, I want to say. But I don't. I just give a non-comical shrug.

"I'm not asking for much, Manon. And I'll still be here. I'm not going to be gone tomorrow."

There's a moment where her steel eyes meet mine, just as the elevator comes to a stop. It's the first time we've really looked at each other, and I can see the cold determination in her eyes. But also the worry. It's strange, how much we've come to care for one another in these few days - considering our situation. But - and this is the sentimental part of me that speaks - perhaps when you're faced with such a situation, it's only human nature to latch onto somebody. Luckily for me, that somebody happens to be a very good, kind person.

"Fine. Just be careful."

The door slides open, a cool shaft of metallic air breezing in, giving sight to the carousel of activities that lie around us. Most of the other tributes have already arrived, and as I look around, I can catch some familiar faces. The boy from six stands with his district partner - both of them engaged in learning how to throw knives. I almost wince as he hits dangerously close to the target. It's not just the Careers I should be looking out for.

I can admit that I feel a little lost without Manon by my side. She gives me one last look and heads over to Eden, who's sitting by the Games simulator, observing the others. Manon smiles slightly as she approaches the other girl, and I can see Eden's gaze brighten slightly. My heart twinges a little. Maybe she's not as bad as I thought.

They talk for a moment, Manon sitting down next to her. Eden says something, and jerks her head in my direction. Probably asking where I am. It's only then that I realise that everyone's eyes have been on me. I've just been standing there, blocking the elevator entrance, looking like a complete fool. Flushing slightly, I move my feet quickly in some random direction, finding myself at the climbing section.

This, at the very least, is one of my assets. While a Scout can't do very much, we're lean enough to climb trees, and high ones at that. I can easily spot which footholds to use, and which way would be the quickest, and I'm up at the top in a flash. There's nobody else up here. It's almost peaceful. If I were to close my eyes and block out the sound of trainers squeaking on the floor, I could almost imagine I'm back home. That I'm just procrastinating my work, and taking an extra moment at the treetops. I don't need to open my eyes to see the acres of land, sprawling around me like my very own kingdom. I don't need to breathe in the smell the cold air, and the scent of pine and distant ash. It's all right here.

I'm right there. I'm with the people in the depths of the district, furiously rubbing their hands together to stay warm, eyes watering from the cold. I'm there in the market, feet making clacking sounds on cobbled floor as I'm assaulted by venders. I'm there with Llea, who must be working right now. I'm next to her as she walks the forest floor, eyes cold with determination. I'm there with Aspen, who sits in a house that is now home to her, as she looks at the room that used to be mine.

I'm there. I'm home.

I open my eyes. Only to be greeted with fluorescent training machines and the yells of people who could very easily kill me in an instant.

I can see the gamemakers from where I sit. Most talk amongst themselves, exchanging notes about god-knows what. Arena plans, or maybe the next guest list for their pre-Games party. A few, however, have their eyes trailed on a particular tribute. Three are talking in hushed whispers as they gaze at the tribute from One throw axes. One, a woman with spiky hair, is looking right at me.

Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I'm lost. Remembering my angle, I pull on the cockiest grin I can and wave. It works. She smiles and flushes and turns away.

She's old enough to be my mother, I think, the fake smile still on my cheeks. This is disgusting.

Climbing down as quick as I can, because I both want to get away from the intrusive eyes and also showing my proficiency, I turn to the nearest empty station.

—-

"You'll have five minutes." the trainer says. She's a tall woman, with dark hair and eyes, and her arms are crossed tightly over her chest. I've opted to take part in the Simulation - one of the mandatory activities - and while I was full of confidence as I walked up, I can slowly feel it dwindling away as I take in the competition around me. The girl from Twelve stands to my left, white blonde hair flittering above her eyes, her face deadpan. On my other side is the boy from Ten - Alexander, I think it was - who tries for a deadpan himself, but fails. He's easily as nervous as I am - and the games haven't even started.

"The trigger will go off, and you'll be surrounded by a random scenery. The aim is to see who can survive the longest against whatever enemy you're faced with - be that natural or man-made. The simulation isn't real, of course, and once you're out, your goggles will be switched off."

"I wonder if they'll fit on the four-eyes' head." Twelve next to me sniggers, and it takes a moment for me to realise she's talking about me.

"I'm sure they will," I reply, sweetly. "Though, I'm not sure about your head. It seems rather bloated."

"Tributes." The woman warns. Alexander just looks uncomfortable. "Go on, step in. The timer will begin in one minute."

We do, and once the goggles are around my head, I'm surrounded in darkness. The sounds around me dim out, until I'm only left with the sound of blood pulsing in my ears. Okay, Ellis. Calm.

Three, two, one.

The light around me flickers, and I feel oddly woozy as I look around. Sans the feeling of the goggles on my face, this could be entirely real. I stand on a marble floor, the other two around me, creating a sort of triangle. Twelve doesn't seem afraid at all, and while Alexander has a bit of uncertainty to his expression, he doesn't seem terrified. I try my best to look as confident as possible.

"What the heck?" Twelve asks, after a moment, where nothing happens. The clock's started, I can see the green numbers flashing out of the corner of my vision. "What gives?"

"I think that - " I begin, but am cut off by a low rumbling, as the floor beneath my feet begins to shake. I'm caught off guard, and nearly fall over as the marble floor seems to split apart. Jumping to the left - and nearly falling over in the process - I'm just able to get my footing. The place I was just standing crumbles away into black goop that looks a lot like oil. The other two dance around, finding footing, until we're all standing precariously on tiny islands of marble, floating in black ocean of goop.

"Uhh," Alexander's voice is low and cautious. Waves begin to rock the sea, causing me to flail and nearly fall to the side. My stomach swoops with vertigo, and I feel like I'm about to be sick. Blinking hard, I focus on staying upright.

Twelve has other plans, as she takes a dangerous leap to her side, getting closer to Alexander, who's trying just as hard as I am. They meet eyes for a second, and I know based on the fear in his pupils that he knows what she's about to try.

She leaps for him just as he staggers back, causing the island to tip. Thankfully for him, he's able to jump off onto a separate piece of floating marble. Twelve isn't so lucky. She just grazes him with her fingertips, before slipping under into whatever the water is. She's out.

Alexander and I meet eyes.

"I'm not coming for you," he says, guessing what I was trying to ask. "I'm too busy trying to keep myself upright."

Just as he speaks, another wave rocks up, sending me reeling. Splashes of the dark water skid onto my island, and it's barely a second before I slip. I don't even have time to swear before I've ducked under the water, and I'm back in the training hall.

I survived for three minutes and forty two seconds. I look at Twelve, who's disgruntled and staring daggers. Back at Alexander, who's still in the game.

I can do better than that.

—

The trainer at the fire starting station shows me a few tactics, and after a while I'm left alone to get on with my own work. As much as I try to focus on the flint, my eyes can't help but wander. Eden and Manon are learning how to blow darts. The Careers are convening at the weight lifting. The girl from Nine watches them from a corner, afraid. I can identify with that. They've even more terrifying when you know that they're out to kill you.

I'm so engrossed in my observations that I don't notice the person who's joined me at the station until they speak directly behind me.

"Ellis, right?"

"Ehh?" I let out an undignified sound, nearly toppling over as I spin around to gather a look at the perpetrator of the sound. Looking up, I catch a glimpse at dark hair and brown skin, and fiercely amber eyes.

"I asked," Devon says. "It's Ellis, right? From Seven?"

"Y-yeah," I say, jumping to my feet and collecting myself. Shit. That guy. The guy who saw through me completely. "Your name is Devon?"

He hums his reply, kneeling down next to my pile. I've tried with wood and flint and a million other methods, but to no avail, and it looks rather pathetic on the ground by itself, without even a spark to be seen. I've only ever used matches to light fires, but who's to say that there'll be any left in the arena.

"You're rubbing it the wrong way."

"Excuse me?"

"The flint," Devon's eyebrows and eyelids may look bored, but his pupils spark with intent and energy. "You're rubbing it the wrong way. Here." He takes it in his hand and starts to mimic the action, creating a spark. Within a second, a flame appears.

"Oh. Uh. Thanks."

Devon doesn't say anything. Instead he just sits there, staring directly into the flames. He seems engrossed in it.

He's odd, I think. There's something about this boy that strikes me as more than what he seems. I don't think he's displayed any emotion since I met him, and yet he seems to have intent behind every thing he does. In a way, I want him to stay longer. I want to figure him out. I want to know exactly who Devon is, and why he does what he does. I want to know if he has a family, or friends, or if he's entirely alone.

But at the same time, this want to get to know him is the biggest danger about him. Because I find that I can't exactly act the way I'm supposed to around him. I'm reduced to an awkward mess of short words and curiosity.

There's a beat.

"Can you teach me?"

Devon's eyes narrow. "Why would you want that?"

"Because you're good at it. And I'd like to learn."

"I could very well teach you the wrong way, just to fuck you up in the arena."

"Well, that would be a very dick move."

He smiles. It's slight, and very brief, but it's a smile all the same, and I can tell in his eyes for the second time that it's a mistake.

And that's when I realise it.

"We're more alike than you think," I say, as Devon takes the stick to demonstrate. While he doesn't look up, he gives a sort of grunt that sounds almost questioning. "I saw that smile. You said I was faking it, and that it was smart. Well, so are you. That tough, nonchalant attitude might get you a lot of places, but you're not fooling me."

"Aren't I?" He sounds almost amused.

"You came here for a reason."

"To learn how to start fires." He deadpans.

"No," I shake my head. "Because you already know how to do that."

His head snaps up, and I know that I've got him. There. I was right. He's as much intrigued about me as I am about him, and there's no point hiding it anymore. I can tell so much from his bewildered expression. His eyebrows have shot up, his pupils smaller and his lips apart, just slightly. He looks completely caught off guard, and it suits him.

There's another pause.

"What about it? You're more interesting than most of the other people here."

"Why did you talk to me? In the elevator?"

Pause.

"I don't know," he admits. "Can we go back to fire starting? This line of questioning is beginning to make me feel like I'm being interviewed, and I'd much rather it be done by Flickerman."

I grin. "Okay."

It takes a while, but I get the hang of it, and after a good half an hour I've successfully lit two fires. For the first few minutes, Devon and I sat in silence. However, as time went on, I found that it was much easier to talk. Not just easy. Comfortable.

"- which is why it's not very convenient." He finishes. He's been on a rant for the past few minutes about the transport system in Five, and how he's always wanted to fix it. It's been a while since I've ceased working, instead opting to gaze at him as he speaks. The apathy is gone, replaced with some sort of passion in his eyes. This project he's speaking about is something he really cares about, and I can tell.

I like people like him. People who have a spark. People with purpose.

Ellis, you should definitely not start to care about this guy. He's the enemy.

For once, however, I ignore the voice in the back of my head. Being here, with Devon, I can almost forget about the Games. I can just be me. Me; staring at a boy with handsome brown skin, and shining eyes, and a strong jaw, and adorable hair, and - oh shit.

(I don't think I've realised it just yet, but I'm close.)

Devon pauses. "Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Because I like you."

"Oh," he says. "That's unfortunate."

"And why is that?"

"Because, Ellis," he takes a deep breath. "You hardly know me. And we're in the middle of a murder competition. 'Like' shouldn't even be part of your vocabulary."

"You're the one who approached me, need I remind you?"

"Yeah," he nods. "I'm sorry about that. I shouldn't have. Look, I'll go - "

"What about being allies?" I can't help but ask it, even though I know it's fruitless. I just need to. Deep down, I know it'd never work between us. Especially not with Eden or Manon involved. Manon doesn't trust Devon, and I shouldn't.

"Sorry, Ellis," Devon does sound sorry. "I'm not allying with anyone. I'm not going to risk that. I suggest you do the same, if you want to live. You can't survive by relying on people. Reliance is weakness."

And so, I watch him walk away, just as suddenly as he arrived. It's a shame, really. I can hear Vera and Kiln groaning in my head, because this is just slo stupid. I shouldn't like Devon. He should be someone who I stray far away from, because the people who I like are the most dangerous ones of all. He should be Enemy Number One, easily above the Careers. I should defeat all weakness and run far, far away.

But there's something about the boy I can't help but like. Make that a weakness. I don't care.


End file.
